


Mattaka

by Marian_De_Haan



Series: Mattaka series [2]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e02 Shadow, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 14:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20602250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marian_De_Haan/pseuds/Marian_De_Haan
Summary: TheLiberator'screw embarks on a mission to destroy the clinic the Federation uses for creating mutoids. What should have been straightforward becomes complicated when another rebel carries out the same plan at the same time.





	Mattaka

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Chronicles #69. Reproduced here on the author's behalf and with the author's permission.
> 
> This story follows "The Perfect Solution" story in Chronicles #67-68, but it can be read as a standalone.

"A spectacular fiasco," Avon observed.

Refusing to be baited, Blake watched him head for the flight deck couches.

Slouching on the central couch with his head in his hands, Vila raised his head. "I said it wouldn't work."

Avon gave him a disdainful stare. "You didn't."

"You were too concerned about missing out on the recreations of Space City," Cally remarked, looking up from stroking the moondisk on her lap.

Gan left his position to join them. "One thing the mission did prove, is that enlisting the help of criminal organisations is no option."

"Especially when they turn out to be run by the Federation," Cally said.

From her position at the pilot's console, Jenna observed: "At least we did singe the president's garden."

"With the result that a few addicts will die a little sooner because of the halt of their Shadow supply." Avon sat down. "I'm curious to know how much sleep you think the president is going to lose over that."

Enough recriminations! Blake picked up his laser pencil. "Don't worry, Avon. Our next move will give him a bout of insomnia."

"Next move?" Jenna sounded wary.

"I'm not fit," Vila protested. "I've got this terrible headache."

"Serves you right," Cally told him.

"You should not have sneaked off to get drunk," Gan said.

"Forsaking your duty," Cally added.

Vila snorted. "YOU should talk. I didn't get taken over by that energy sucker."

"Enough!" Blake roared. "Let's concentrate on our next target!"

Face contracting in sudden suspicion, Avon raised his voice: "Zen, state course."

"Liberator is en route to the planet Mattaka."

"What?" Vila exclaimed.

Jenna whistled.

"The mutoid clinic," Cally whispered.

"Our next target, Blake?" Gan asked.

"Which will be sheer suicide." Avon crossed his arms. "Count me out."

"And me," Vila said. "I want to live to a ripe old age."

"You intend to destroy the clinic?" Jenna enquired.

"Finishing the work Sian Tao began," Cally said.

"Yes." Blake had come to admire that woman when they had met for the ill-fated conference of rebel leaders. He still regretted that he had not been able to persuade her to join his crew. Sian had done what no-one else had dared: an attack on that place of evil, that symbol of the Federation's inhumanity, where people were deprived of their individuality and turned into mutoids.

"Due to defective explosives, Sian's action did only minor damage to the complex. It killed the batch of prisoners who were in the process of being modified."

"Among them her own daughter," Avon commented.

"But left the medical staff alive and most of the building intact," Blake continued.

Cally nodded. "We must remedy that."

"Yes. We'll wipe the complex off the planet!" Blake reached over to Orac, resting next to him on the couch, and put its key into place.

Vila scowled. "What's the point? They'll only move the production to another clinic."

"They can't," Blake told him. "Mattaka is the only mutoid clinic in existence."

"Since the transformation into mutoids can only be done successfully on persons younger than twenty-five years of age," Avon said, "the supply of raw material is too limited to merit more than one facility."

Blake nodded. "The destruction of the clinic will put an end to the practice."

"Until they build another clinic," Vila commented.

"That will take time." Blake raised his voice: "Orac, put the blueprint of the Mattaka complex on the main screen."

All eyes turned towards the screen, on which a circular ground plan appeared.

"The complex is housed in a small dome of standard Federation design," Blake said. "It has a diameter of about 100 metres and consists of four sections, all grouped round the central courtyard. The North section holds the storerooms and parking space for the vehicles." He aimed his laser pencil and a red dot appeared on the screen. "Here, in the garage, is the only entrance to the dome..."

"Just the one entrance?" Gan interrupted. "Isn't that against fire regulations?"

Orac made a noise that sounded very much like the clearing of a throat, then announced: "The Mattaka complex is listed as a Special Project Building. Normal regulations do not apply to those."

"And it's logical to have the entrance at the garage," Avon added, "to allow the transport vehicles through."

"And a single entry point makes the place easy to guard against intruders," Cally observed.

"Yes," Blake said impatiently, irritated by being interrupted. "But we'll bypass that by teleporting in. According to Zen's databanks the place is not shielded."

"They don't expect anyone to be daft enough for a full scale attack," Vila mumbled.

"BOLD enough," Cally corrected.

"Which amounts to the same thing," Avon said.

Pretending not to hear, Blake went on: "At the West are the living quarters of the staff and medical personnel. The South section consists of the clinic itself and the holding cells for the prisoners. At the East we have the communication room and the quarters of the security staff."

He let his gaze rove over his crew. Cally looked eager for action, Gan willing, Jenna doubtful, Vila sick and Avon had that mulish expression indicating that no amount of arguments would make him change his mind. Blake shrugged mentally - he had no means to force him. They'd simply have to do without him.

"According to Orac a new batch of prisoners has just been brought in. They will be held in the cells for 48 hours, the time needed for their systems to get rid of the suppressants they've been fed during transportation to the planet."

Avon nodded. "They need to be drug-free for the conversion"

"We will be arriving at Mattaka in 39 hours, when it will be night on that side of the planet," Blake continued, part of his mind wondering where Avon got such knowledge from - way outside his field. "We'll teleport into the central courtyard, each carrying a batch of remote control time bombs. Cally, you take the security section. Hide the bombs wherever you find a suitable space. But first disable all their means of communication, including the internal system." This task he'd intended for Avon but, having been trained in communications, Cally should be equally capable of it. "If something goes wrong I don't want them to be able to give the alarm."

Seeing her nod, he went on: "Try to be as stealthy as you can. Our aim is to plant the bombs without anyone noticing."

"And get out before they explode," Avon drawled.

Blake cast him an angry look, hurt by this reminder of the occasion when Cally did not get out in time. "That is why we use the remote control bombs. We'll make sure that everyone is back aboard before setting them off. Jenna, your task will be to free the prisoners and direct them to the garage. By that time Vila must have the security system on the outside door disabled and the lock open."

"What?" Vila sat up in alarm.

Ignoring him, Blake continued to Jenna: "Tell the prisoners to take the vehicles and get out as fast as they can. Then place your bombs in the cellblock. Gan, you take care of the clinic. Make sure to plant your bombs so they will totally destroy the place. I don't want that operating-room to ever be used again!"

"Don't worry," Gan said. "Remember I've worked as a paramedic. I'm familiar with the layout of hospitals."

"Right. I will deal with the staff living quarters-"

"Wait, Blake," Gan cut in. "You mean you intend to kill them - doctors, nurses?"

Blake squared his shoulders. "Yes."

"It is necessary," Cally said. "They are servants of an evil regime."

"But we've all worked for the Federation," Gan observed. "That doesn't make us evil."

"Without their participation," Blake pointed out, "that clinic would not have functioned."

He got help from an unexpected quarter.

"No employee on Mattaka is forced into working there," Avon said. "Initially the Federation used compulsory service to get the clinic staffed. But it didn't work out, the suicide rate was high and a lot of medics became so disgusted with the work that they ended up in the Resistance. So the Federation changed its tactic. They now offer double pay and a guaranteed top job on Earth after a five year stint at Mattaka - I gather they're never short of volunteers," he finished dryly.

"Their death will make others think twice about volunteering," Jenna said. "So when the Federation sets up a new clinic, they'll have trouble staffing it."

"Exactly." Blake switched off his pencil to indicate that the matter was closed. "I've made Zen print out the plan of the complex. Study it so you'll know where to go. Vila will come with us to open the locks. Avon can stay on Liberator and operate the teleport."

"That's not fair," Vila protested. "Why can't I stay and man the teleport."

"Because YOU are indispensable." Blake looked pointedly at Avon but all he got in return was a mocking smile. He should have remembered that Avon's hide was thicker than that of a Tarzian Warg Strangler.

"I don't like that," Jenna said, eyeing Avon with open distrust. "What is to prevent him from taking Liberator and running?"

Avon rose, producing a haughty smile. "I can afford to wait until Blake has managed to get you all killed at his side." Head held high, he strode from the flight deck.

Mentally shrugging off the hurt, Blake watched him go, realising that in his own, blistering, way Avon had given his undertaking not to abandon them.

* * * * * * *

Vila nervously worked on the alarm system linked to the cell locks while Jenna stood watch, gun at the ready. Prisons always made him jumpy. He'd done too much time inside to want to spend any time there voluntarily.

"That's it," he whispered, casting a nervous glance towards the end of the corridor. The warden on night duty doing the rounds wasn't due for another hour but he might have decided to deviate from his schedule. "All the door locks are free. You can now lift the bolts on the cells without setting off the alarm."

"Good," Jenna replied softly, keeping her gun trained at the corridor. "The first prisoners freed can help me with the rest. You go back to the courtyard and keep watch!"

"That's my reason of existence, isn't it - being bossed around." In the half-hour since he and Blake had materialised in the garage, he'd been set to work without pause. First he'd had to disable the lock on the outside door, so the prisoners would be able to leave the dome. Then he'd followed Blake to the central courtyard, where they'd been joined by the others. Having opened the various doors there, he'd been dragged along by Jenna to deal with the prison locks. Heading back through the dimly lit corridor, Vila reflected that it was a miracle they had not been detected yet. Every moment he expected a siren to start wailing.

Panting, Vila reached the courtyard. The dome, curving above the yard, was of an oblique material that would let daylight through but blocked out the stars. Light came from a few lamps that were kept burning through the night.

Moving closely along the buildings in search of a hiding place, he came upon a row of large, gaudily decorated windows looking out on the courtyard.

Vila reached for his lock-pick tools. He'd recognise a bar anywhere. And he was direly in need of something to steady his nerves.

After the third glass he began to relax. The fourth emptied the bottle. Vila reached for another, but the recent experience at Space City made him refrain from opening it. Instead he put the flask in his pocket. Then he went over to the counter, but found the till empty. The money must have been put in the safe.

Vila's face lit up. It would take the others hours to plant all those bombs, time enough for him to go and empty the dome's safe.

All Federation constructions had basically the same design. Vila knew that the safe would be situated in the central vault beneath the courtyard. The entrance would be through the guard section, which was of course right at the other side of the courtyard from where he was now.

Emboldened by the drinks, Vila left the bar. Turning right, he moved along the buildings, staying in their shadow as much as he could. With a sigh of relief, he at last reached the door he'd earlier unlocked for Cally. Before slipping inside, he took a last look round the yard. Catching movement to his right, he froze.

Ever so slowly a door was opened. Must be one of the storerooms, Vila thought, heart pounding. None of their group had any task there.

Someone stepped into the yard. Someone who was as eager to stay unnoticed as he was, Vila realised. The figure halted to look the place over. Desperately trying to convince himself that he must be invisible in the shadow, Vila stood frozen, wishing he could melt into the wall.

The stranger was no more than a dark silhouette, small and fat. A woman, Vila thought. She moved again, her face for a moment catching the light of one of the lamps. It was a beautiful face, oriental and ageless. Vila frowned. He was sure he'd seen that face somewhere before, quite recently. But the only oriental lady he'd met in a long time was Sian Tao, and she wasn't fat.

The woman turned to close the door. Vila swiftly made use of the opportunity, opening his door and slipping inside. He found the brightly-lit room empty. Cally must have long gone on to the communication room. Or maybe she had already finished sabotaging the equipment and begun to plant her bombs. As the plan was to start along the outer wall and work inwards, she should be well out of the way.

Vila headed straight for the door to the downward stairs. The lock gave him no trouble. He hesitated for a moment, but the thought of the money in the safe made him go on. At the foot of the stairs he came upon another closed door. Vila had it unlocked in no time.

Mustering his courage, he opened the door, found the light switch and peeped inside. The sight of the large safe built into the wall made his heart beat faster. Vila entered, carefully shutting the door behind him. With a mixture of relief and disappointment he realised that the safe would pose no challenge to his skills.

He'd just set to work on the lock when a faint sound alarmed him. There it was again, footsteps on the stairs - soft but persistent. Someone was coming down - to this room, these stairs led to nowhere else! Trying to keep his rising panic at bay, Vila looked round the room. No place to hide. And no other way out. He was trapped... 

No, the teleport! Catching the sound of fumbling at the door, Vila hissed into his bracelet: "Avon, emergency! Get me up! Now!"

He saw the door start to open, then the picture blurred and he was back in Liberator's teleport bay.

"What happened?" Avon asked, rising from behind the console.

Vila let out his breath in unspeakable relief. "Nothing. I mean, I'm alright now, but-"

Avon grabbed him by the jacket. "What about the others?"

"They're fine. Still planting their bombs, I suppose."

Avon's hand dived into Vila's pocket. It came up with the flask. "You decided to stock up your booze."

Stung by his contempt, Vila mustered his dignity. "Actually, I was going for the safe."

Avon slammed the flask into Vila's hands. "And you set off the alarm!"

"Of course not! Someone was coming. I was trapped..."

A pensive expression had appeared on Avon's face. "It may not have been such a bad idea."

"That's what I thought," Vila immediately agreed, hardly believing his ears. "Private enterprise, showing initiative - that's me!"

"Yes." Avon moved back to the console. "You can go back there and finish the job."

"Avon, are you mad? There's someone there!"

"Information," came Zen's voice through the speaker, drowning out Vila's protest. "Detectors register a large explosion at the Mattaka clinic dome."

* * * * * * *

"What?" Avon exclaimed. It had to be false alarm - unless that idiot Vila had triggered something... He reached for the teleport switches.

The bay stayed empty.

"Get Orac," Avon said after the third attempt, grimly noticing that Vila was too shocked to embark upon his usual whining.

He slammed the key into place while Vila was still placing the computer on the console. "Orac, did you detect that explosion?"

"Of course I did. The complex is destroyed."

"Someone must have been careless with the bombs," Vila said. From his sudden paleness Avon could tell the exact moment it dawned on him that he had escaped death by mere seconds.

Avon tried to ignore the empty feeling in his chest. "It had to happen..."

"This explosion was not caused by Blake's explosives," Orac declared. "They can only be triggered by a signal from Liberator, which has not been given. Moreover, the pattern of the blast-wave indicates one giant explosion, with the epicentre in the central vault. Traces of elements in the atmosphere point at the employment of pyrogel. From the power of the explosion the quantity of pyrogel used can be deduced as roughly 30 kilos."

"That's not stuff you take along casually," Vila observed.

"No." Avon felt numb at the irony. "Someone else must have got the same idea as Blake - and chosen the same time."

"That woman," Vila said.

"What woman?"

Impatiently Avon listened to Vila's blabbing about the figure he'd seen.

"It was clear she didn't want to be noticed." Vila frowned. "You know, she reminded me of Sian. Only Sian isn't fat."

"It WAS Sian!" With sickening clarity Avon saw the logic. "She looked fat because of the kilos of explosives tied to her body."

"A suicide mission," Vila exclaimed.

Avon nodded. "It makes sense. Deprived of her will to live by Shivan's death, she must have decided to finish the task she had left undone. And your venture into the vault, opening the locks and disabling the alarm, made it easy for her."

"She certainly chose her moment," Vila said. "I mean, Blake and the others must be dead, mustn't they?"

"Yes." Avon tried to get rid of his feeling of unreality. Only forty hours ago he'd predicted that Blake would lead his followers into death. Even he could not have foreseen that he would be proven right so soon. He should feel relieved, now that he was no longer in danger of being dragged into Blake's doomed enterprises. Liberator was his, and fate had spared Blake's one follower who could be of use to him.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Vila said. "This place will be swarming with Federation ships. Let's get out while we can."

It was the logical thing to do, Avon thought. Blake had to be dead. The others too. He'd warned them that Blake would get them killed, yet they'd chosen to follow him...

"Avon," Vila urged. "Let's go now!"

Shoving him out of the way, Avon began to head for the flight deck. Vila was right. They had no reason to stay.

* * * * * * *

Cally came to amidst waves of pain. Telling herself to be calm, she began to employ the techniques learned on Auron. Mind over matter. It would have worked better it she'd had other Auronar to link minds with, but with dogged determination she managed to delegate the pain to a corner of her mind.

She was lying on her back. From the waist down her body seemed to be buried. Her arms were free, though. The dome had vanished, above her she could see the stars, shining brightly in the dark, moonless sky. A warm wind blew in her face, reminding her that the average temperature in this zone of Mattaka was 27 degrees Celsius.

What had happened? She remembered leaving the lavatory block of the guardroom after hiding a bomb behind the cistern. Then a flash and nothing.

A new pain surged through her as she thought of the others. What had become of them? Cally's hand went to her bracelet. It wasn't there! She must have lost it...

NOT AGAIN! NOT LIKE CENTERO!

Frantically, she stretched out her hand to search for it. Nothing in the unidentifiable mass of rubble felt remotely like it.

Catching the sound of an engine, she abandoned her search. Strong headlights came into her field of vision, followed by an anti-gravity ambulance. It stopped about a metre away, hovering low above the devastation, its lights nearly blinding her. Squeezing her eyes almost shut, she saw two figures, dressed in the fluorescent white of paramedics, gingerly lowering themselves onto the rubble. 

"Lady, can you hear me?" The woman who bent over Cally had a friendly face, and the brisk manner that betrayed experience in her job.

"Yes," Cally said, resenting the trembling in her voice.

"The first one we come across is alive, that must be a good sign," the other paramedic observed, kneeling at her side. He was a man in his thirties, stockily built with unruly red hair and a cheerful manner.

"What's your name?" the woman asked.

Cally almost replied. Just in time she remembered that her name might be recognised from the Federation's Wanted-list.

"I'm sorry - I can't remember."

"That's all right." The man smiled reassuringly at her. "It will come back to you." He began to remove the rubble. "We'll have you out of here in no time."

"Can you tell us where it hurts?" the woman asked.

"Everywhere." Chiding herself for her weakness, Cally tried to concentrate. "My back and legs."

"Keep absolutely still." The woman rummaged into the large bag she'd carried with her. "I'll give you something against the pain."

Cally felt the stab before she could protest. With the waning of the pain lethargy settled on her. Time lost its meaning. Cally was vaguely aware of others arriving. More ambulances, eerily illuminating the scene. Local government getting things organised, she thought idly, remembering that the nearest settlement was more than five hundred kilometres away. According to Orac, the people of Mattaka preferred to ignore the clinic's existence on their planet as much as they could.

"There," the man said. "You weren't buried as deeply as I thought."

The woman brought a diagnostic scanner, which she moved slowly over Cally's body. "As I thought." She held the scanner into the light to read the results. "Some fractures there. You're lucky - the spinal cord's still intact."

Reaching inside the ambulance, the man said: "We'll put you in an immobilising bandage."

Drowsily, Cally felt something being manoeuvred under her back, then a refreshing coolness as the immobilising bandage set around her torso. Then she was lifted onto a stretcher.

"We're setting up a field hospital just outside the premises," the man said. "They'll do a proper examination there."

NO! Cally snapped back to reality. That would reveal her being from Auron. A dead give-away that she was an intruder - no alien was employed at the clinic. She had to get out of here...

Concentrating with all her might, Cally telepathed: //Liberator! Avon! I'm hurt. Lost my bracelet. I'm being taken to the field hospital outside the dome. Come and get me out!//

TOO FAR, a voice nagged in her head. But she could not give up. It was not only her own life at stake. If she was identified, the investigators would go in search of the others.

Sick at the thought of dragging her companions along in her doom, Cally doubled her effort, screaming out her silent cry into space. //Liberator! AVON!//

* * * * * * *

Through her bout of coughing, Jenna's first thought was that the flash must have blinded her. Then the dust settled enough for the diffuse light of a single emergency lamp to reach her. She was lying on her back, staring at the rays of light made visible by the still floating dust. What the hell had happened? Some kind of explosion...

THE BOMBS! Impossible, she'd not even begun to plant them. Looking round her, Jenna saw the case sticking half out of a pile of debris, apparently still intact. She remembered she'd been about to start placing the first bomb, having just returned to the prison section after directing the released prisoners to the garage.

It must have been Gan - the clinic had been assigned to him. One of his bombs must have gone off by accident. Or maybe all of them, to cause such devastation.

This must be the main corridor. It was difficult to recognise anything in this chaos. The plaster of the walls had come down, causing the dust wave that had nearly choked her. Looking upwards, she could just make out the metallic shine of the roof slabs. It seemed like the building's structure would hold long enough for her to get out.

Jenna sat up. A flash of pain shot through her ankle. Looking down, she saw that her left foot was trapped under chunks of the nearest wall.

She reached for her bracelet. It was not on her arm! Fighting down her panic, she let her eyes rove over the floor until she spotted the item. It was just beyond her reach, of course.

Feeling round her in the rubble, Jenna's fingers came upon a piece of wire. Just the thing. It even had a bent end that made it ideal for its task. Jenna felt almost elated when she pulled the bracelet towards her. Bringing it up to her mouth, she pressed the communicator button. It fell off. In frustration she closed her fist on the bracelet and it snapped in two.

Jenna cursed. The thing must have been cracked in the blast.

So, she'd have to get herself out of the mess! Very cautiously she began to wriggle her foot free from the boot, telling herself sternly that the pain was bearable.

With an audible plop, the boot released its hold. Jenna gingerly massaged her ankle. She didn't think it was broken. The boot seemed to have borne the brunt. A good thing she had selected such a sturdy pair for this job.

So far so good. Now the boot was empty, she could pull it free from the rubble. Gritting her teeth, she put it on again.

Determined, she stood. The ankle hurt, but held her weight - just. Trying to stir up as little vibration as possible, Jenna began to move through the corridor. The section behind her was blocked by debris, leaving her only one way to go. The light of the lamp threw her grotesquely inflated shadow in front of her. It waned when she went further along, until she was negotiating her way in almost total darkness. With relief she saw another light looming ahead of her. It came from a doorway. The door, blown open towards her, hung askew on its lower hinges.

This had to be the entrance to the clinic, she deduced. And the position of the door proved that the blast had come from that direction.

Gan must be dead. Jenna smiled grimly at the irony. How long ago was it that they'd gone through all that trouble to save his life? Avon would jump at the chance to rub that in...

Jenna tensed. What was that noise? A groan, very faintly, coming from inside. Could it be Gan, wounded but alive? She hurried through the doorway, entering a large room. An emergency lamp was casting a spooky light on the interior. The damage was even worse here. Amidst the rubble Jenna recognised the mangled remains of hospital beds. This must have been one of the wards. In another twenty-four hours all those beds would have been occupied. Jenna remembered that the conversion process was very much assembly-line work, the victims being tied onto a conveyor belt that moved them along the medics, who each had their own tasks. Jenna had been disgusted by Orac's description of the process.

In the centre of the ward sat a girl. Face in her hands, she was rocking to and fro while moaning softly.

Jenna hurried towards her. The girl looked up, large blue eyes full of fear. Her long blond hair hung loose, giving her an angelic appearance in the soft light. She could not be older than fifteen, Jenna thought. She must be one of the prisoners, who were all in their adolescence, of course, as the conversion of humans into mutoids was not possible on adults. Jenna shuddered - if she'd been caught a few years earlier she'd have ended up as a mutoid.

"What's your name," Jenna asked.

"Nurit." The girl's whisper was barely audible.

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you go with the others to the garage?"

"I was... They frightened me. I hid."

A piece of plaster fell down, making them both start.

Jenna held out her hand. "Come, we'll have to find a way out of here."

Nurit rose. She was clad in the standard green-grey prison coverall. It seemed too large for her slight frame, making her look pathetically vulnerable.

Anger rose in Jenna. How could a regime do this to its children! Blake was right, the Federation had to be stopped.

"I have friends," she said. "We'll find them. Then we'll take you to a safe place."

Jenna grimaced to herself. IF the others were unharmed. IF she could find them. IF their bracelets were still intact. IF Liberator was still there...

'TOO MANY IFS FOR MY LIKING,' as Avon would say.

* * * * * * *

"We should go, I tell you! We should have gone half an hour ago. We could have been out of the system by now." Vila gave Avon a baleful stare. "Pacing the flight deck isn't going to get us anywhere."

Fed up with being ignored, he jumped into Avon's path. "For pity's sake! There's no point in waiting here for a Federation ship to spot us!"

That made Avon halt. "I told you, Vila." His voice was harsh. "We're hiding in the shadow of an obsolete satellite. No scanner can detect us here. Move, and we'll be spotted."

"We'll be spotted anyway, sooner or later. Liberator can outrun-"

"Be quiet!"

"No I won't!" His fear gave Vila courage. "I have a right to say-"

"Shut up!" Avon brought his hand to his head. "I thought I heard Cally."

"What?" Vila's brain processed the information. "Impossible. She's dead, Avon. No-one can have survived that blast." He desperately tried to convince himself as well as Avon. "It must be an illusion."

"No! She's alive. Hurt." Avon frowned in concentration. "She's being taken to the field hospital. Come, Vila! We must get her out before they start to examine her."

"Wait!" Vila grabbed Avon's arm. "If she's badly hurt, she'll be better off in a hospital."

"Fool!" Tearing himself free, Avon turned to face him. "The examination will reveal her origins. How long do you think it will take the medics to remember there's a warrant out for an Auron woman matching her description? They'll waste no time alerting Space Command. Then the chase for Liberator will start in earnest!"

"All right." With sinking heart Vila followed him into the corridor. "You've convinced me, I suppose."

* * * * * * *

Rubbing his temple, Gan sat up. His head hurt. Badly. Who was he? Where was he? What was he doing here, lying in the starlight? Starlight - that was strange. He was living in a dome. There should be no stars here.

He sat up, causing a small avalanche around him. Where did all that rubble come from? With dismay he took in the devastation. Looked like a major disaster had occurred. The dome must have collapsed onto the buildings, taking them down with it.

Nothing stirred where he was. Further away lights were moving in the dark. Rescue teams. They seemed to beckon him. Of course - he was a paramedic. That fact he could remember, although his name still escaped him.

He stood, precariously balancing on the rubble. There would be many casualties. He had to help them. Automatically, he straightened his clothes. They were torn and dirty. Never mind, he'd find a proper outfit - every ambulance carried some spares.

Something on his wrist was irritating him. A bracelet was hanging open on his tattered sleeve. He took it off, studying it in the scarce light. What would he want to wear a bracelet for? The thing was crude and ugly, and bound to hamper him in his work.

He dropped it. The bracelet landed with a 'thud', rolled over the rubble, then disappeared into a hole. Not looking back, Gan began to walk towards the lights.

* * * * * * *

"No, no, I'm fine. Please help the others first."

"If you're sure." The doctor turned away to tend to another patient.

Cally had been brought into a large tent, which was rapidly filling with casualties. Giving up her place in the queue had worked so far, but it couldn't be kept up indefinitely. Lying flat on her back, which restricted her range of vision, she didn't know how many more wounded were waiting for treatment.

//Avon! Hurry! I'm in the first tent from the Dome. I can't stall much longer!//

Cally sighed. The distance must be too great. She was getting tired, it was a strain to keep up the telepathing. She had to be grateful that the painkiller still worked for she would have no energy left to fight the pain. Cally concentrated all her mental power on a last effort: //AVON!//

Suddenly they were there, two men dressed in the standard medical white. Both wore caps and mouth-masks, leaving only their eyes bare.

Cally would have known those eyes anywhere. She almost cried out in relief. Quickly, she changed over to telepathy.

//Avon, Vila, you have my thanks.//

Vila winked at her, while Avon went to address the doctor.

"Special unit. We're looking for a woman..." Avon's eyes roved ostentatiously over the wounded, then he advanced upon Cally. "Young, slim, dark curls. This must be the one."

"But, she's not been examined yet..."

"Don't worry, doctor. That will be taken care of." He positioned himself at the head of her stretcher. Vila took the other end and they carried her out, turning left. Screened from curious eyes by the tent, they put her down. Vila took a bracelet from his pocket and clasped it briskly around her arm. Avon pressed his communicator button. "Orac, bring us up."

The starlit sky blurred and a moment later Cally found herself back aboard Liberator.

* * * * * * *

"That's it." Avon put the scanner away. "The bones are healed." He reached over to switch off the regenerator. "All you need now is rest."

Cally smiled at him, that comely smile that threatened to get under his skin. Quickly turning his back to her, he busied himself with disconnecting the regenerator.

"Look what I've found for you, Cally." Vila entered the sickbay, holding up a garment he'd selected from the wardrobe room. It was of a red silky material, decorated with bands in the colours of the rainbow. Solicitously, he helped her to put it on.

Cally must be very tired, to allow him, Avon thought, vaguely amused. "Since we've got Vila making himself useful for a change, he can help you to your cabin. Unless you'd rather stay here."

"What about the others," Cally asked.

He did not look at her. "They must be dead."

//No, Avon.//

"It was Sian, Cally," Vila said. "I saw her. She did a suicide act..."

Idly listening to the garbled account, Avon grimaced to himself; Cally could become a complication in his plans for the future.

"No-one can have survived that blast," Vila finished.

"I did," Cally said. "Others did. And remember that we'd agreed to work inwards. At the time of the explosion they must have still been working near the outer wall. If that blast did most damage at the centre, they were in the best position to survive."

"You can't expect miracles, Cally!" Steeling himself, Avon met her gaze. "The others are dead."

"They're not!"

"Wishful thinking."

Cally's eyes bore into his. "I KNOW, Avon!"

"That famed Auron feeling!" His frustration made him want to hurt her.

Cally rose. "If you aren't going to search for them, then I will."

"In that condition? Don't be an idiot!"

//Avon, can you really leave them for dead without being certain?//

No, damn her! "All right, if I have to produce their bodies to convince you!" He shoved the regenerator into its niche with unnecessary force. "Vila..."

With perverse amusement he listened to Vila embarking upon a vigorous protest: "I'd be in your way, Avon! You know me..."

"...You stay here with Cally." Tempting as it was to take him along just for the hell of it, he would indeed be in the way.

"What?" The good news took a second to sink in. "Oh, good idea."

Secretly smiling at Vila's pathetic relief, Avon headed for the exit. "I'm going to change - hopefully the wardrobe room has something to my requirements. Then I'll have a chat with Orac."

//Avon, there's no time to waste!//

He turned in the doorway. "Don't expect me to rush in blindly. I'm not Blake!"

* * * * * * *

"Medics, here!"

Gan hurried along with two of his newfound colleagues. Things were getting organised. Rescue teams with special equipment for tracing body heat had arrived. Having cleared what Gan had heard being described as the 'security area', they'd now started searching the 'staff area'.

At the designated spot Gan kneeled to help free a victim from the rubble. Nobody had questioned his presence or asked for identification. It was irritating that he still couldn't remember his name, but he'd worry about that later. Right now he had a job to do. Most of the victims they found were dead. Gan was determined that anyone brought out alive would not die under his hands.

This one was a woman - late twenties, he estimated. She was in a bad condition, blood all over her. Her face and hands were in a mess, her legs gone. "Stabiliser," someone called. The drug was quickly administered. While helping to lift her onto a stretcher Gan saw, some half a dozen metres away, another victim being taken from the rubble. A sturdy man, by the look of him. A mop of grey curls but the face was not that old. A strong face, long and rather flat. The eyes were closed but somehow Gan knew they were brown. As the man was lifted dust blew from his hair, revealing it to be dark.

Gan frowned. That man seemed familiar...

"Please. Please!"

His attention snapped back to his patient. The woman had come to. Grey eyes, miraculously undamaged in the ravaged face, looked pleadingly up at him. "My hands. I need my hands. I'm a surgeon. Please, I need my hands."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you'll be fine." The legs were lost, but if they got her quickly enough to a hospital, her hands might be saved.

Shoving the stretcher into the ambulance, Gan had already forgotten the other victim.

* * * * * * *

The ward had led into another, and again into another. The further they'd come, the worse the damage was. Sometimes they'd had to climb over piles of rubble, on other occasions they'd just managed to squeeze through a gap between pieces of fallen debris. It was a miracle that they could still find a path through, Jenna thought. This devastation could not have been caused by a single bomb exploding. Something must have gone wrong with a vengeance!

She'd lost all sense of time. It felt like she'd been crawling through the rubble for hours and hours. What if they were going round in circles?

Jenna fought down her despair. She was certain she'd not passed through this corridor before. At least the emergency lighting was still working. The corridor ended in a gap where a pair of double doors had been cleanly blown away. They'd ended up six metres away on the floor, bent but still recognisable.

Stepping through the gap, Jenna found herself in a large chamber. This must be the operating room. Probably of extra strong construction, as the damage seemed limited. A collection of lamps was hanging askew from the ceiling. The giant conveyor belt for the patients was still recognisable. In a corner of the room a cabinet had fallen on its side, spilling its contents.

Jenna looked behind her to see how Nurit was taking it. The girl had been following her calmly enough, but seeing the place where she would have been converted might upset her.

Nurit seemed not aware of Jenna's presence. As if hypnotised, she headed for the fallen cabinet.

"Nurit, what are you doing?" Jenna hurried after her.

Squatting down, Nurit began to rummage through the mess. With a squeak of delight she pulled something out. She jumped up, her face distorted by a mad grin. The sudden malicious gleam in her eyes seemed mirrored in the light reflecting from the blade of the sleek surgical knife in her hands.

Jenna was still taking in the picture when Nurit leapt at her.

* * * * * * *

"Wake up. Wake up, man!"

Blake became aware of the insistent voice. The quickest way to make it cease would be to obey. He opened his eyes.

"There you are. A thick skull, as I thought."

For a moment Blake was totally disorientated, taking in the tent and smell of blood and disinfectants. Then the memories came back. The mission - a huge explosion, the place coming down on top of him...

"Where am I?"

"In the field hospital outside the clinic." The man who spoke - small, chubby, elderly - had the unmistakable air of a medic, his cheerful manner not quite hiding his tiredness.

Sitting up, Blake found his torso and right shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling.

"You were lucky," the doctor told him. "A few broken ribs, a fractured collarbone and a lump on your head. Nothing to worry about. We've patched you up and given you a painkiller. You'll get further treatment at the hospital. You'll have to wait your turn, though. We'll be transferring the urgent cases first." He gestured to a pair of orderlies who were bringing in more equipment. "They'll take you to the waiting room - waiting tent, I mean."

"All right." While he allowed himself to be led away by the orderlies, thoughts raced through Blake's head. Where were the others? What had happened? Had a bomb gone off prematurely? Impossible, they were supposed to be safe until activated.

He had to find a quiet place to contact Liberator. His eyes went to his bandaged arm. No bracelet.

"Wait! What happened to my possessions?"

The doctor looked up from examining his next patient. "You had nothing on you when they brought you in. Your shirt was in tatters," he added while casting his attention back to his work.

He must have lost the bracelet. Probably blown from his arm by the blast, Blake thought while following the orderlies out.

In the starlight the devastation was enormous. The dome had gone, only at the edges were parts of it still standing, black silhouettes against the star riddled sky.

Blake felt numb. This could not have been achieved by one bomb. Had Avon set off the lot, to be rid of them all in one stroke? Cold blooded murder?

If so, he was going to regret it!

But... Blake looked at his hands. He'd been planting a bomb when the explosion occurred. If that bomb had gone off, it would have killed him - or at least ripped off his hand. And the other bombs he'd been carrying would have finished the job.

Besides, he couldn't really believe such a callous deed from Avon.

"What happened?" he asked the orderlies.

"Must have been another fuel accident," the tallest of them replied. "Happened once before - that petrolithinium is as unstable as you can get."

His companion lowered his voice. "A fuel accident, that's what they SAID. I've heard rumours that the damage done then wasn't to the garage, but to the clinic block. You wouldn't expect them to keep any petrolithinium in there, would you?"

The other frowned. "You mean it wasn't a fuel accident?"

His companion's whisper became even lower: "They say it must have been a terrorist attack."

Of course they'd hush it up, Blake thought.

"No chance of keeping THIS quiet," the tall orderly said, gesturing at the ruins. Stopping at a large, yellow tent, he pulled open its flap. "This here's the waiting room, sir."

"Thank you. I'll manage." Under their eyes, Blake meekly went inside. In a glance, he took in the few occupants sitting or lying on the stark bunks. None of them was familiar.

Right, he'd sneak out the moment nobody was looking. He had to find the others.

He was accosted by a harassed looking official with an electronic notebook in his hands. "Excuse me, sir. I'm trying to compile a list of survivors. Can you tell me your name?"

Damn! The man probably had a list of all personnel.

Blake squared his shoulders. "I'm professor Kayn! I'm here on special invitation from your president. I'm abhorred by the way your service works. First you let the place be blown up over my head! Then it takes you hours to dig me out! If this is an example of Federation efficiency, I must conclude that your only dependable department is your Public Relations Bureau!" Blake came into his stride. Cutting off the official's reply, he raged on: "All four of my team are still missing. As you seem unable to locate them, I'll have to do so myself!"

Pushing the tent flap aside, he strode out, head forward like a bull. Nearly colliding with someone about to enter, Blake was stopped in his tracks. With dismay he took in the ornate uniform of a senior Central Security officer.

* * * * * * *

Jenna jumped aside. The blade just missed her. She tried to grab the girl but Nurit leaped out of her reach. Damn, she should have brought her gun. Curse Blake for deciding they'd be more inconspicuous without them!

Keeping her eyes on Nurit, who seemed poised for another attack, Jenna groped behind her in a pile of debris. Her fingers found what felt like a piece of metal. Praying it was movable, she pulled. To her relief it came up easily. The bar was less than half a metre long. Not exactly the ideal weapon, but better than nothing.

"Drop that knife!"

The girl shook her head, clearly unimpressed by Jenna's armament. "Good knife. Sharp knife. Nurit loves knives."

"Is that what you were convicted for?" KEEP HER TALKING!

Nurit gave another mad grin. "Love blood. Much blood."

"You killed someone."

"Killed many." The girl's face suddenly set in angelic innocence. "Nobody suspects little Nurit."

AND I FELT SORRY FOR HER! Aloud, Jenna said: "You must have been very clever." Her only option was to distract Nurit's attention until she could go near enough to hit her.

Nurit's face shone. "VERY clever."

"Tell me."

Nurit seemed all too willing, but her eyes remained watchful.

"My father said I had to work harder at school or he'd stop me playing with my friends. I didn't like that. So, one evening when my mother had gone to the chess club, I slit his throat."

Nurit shivered with excitement. "Such a lot of blood! When mother came home, she found me sleeping. I'd left the door open, making the police think it was the work of a burglar."

"Yes, that IS clever," Jenna said. When the girl did not seem inclined to continue, she asked: "And your mother did not make you work hard at school?"

Nurit gave an angry shrug. "First she grieved too hard to care, then she got another man." Her voice took on a sharp edge. "She paid him more attention than she did me! I bided my time - I'm very good at waiting. Then, one evening when they'd both had too much to drink and lay snoring, I stabbed him in the heart." She frowned in irritation. "That gave not nearly so much blood, so I cut his throat too, but the blood had stopped flowing by then. It does, you know, when you're dead."

SHE'S TOTALLY INSANE! "A second stabbing in the family - didn't the police find that suspicious?"

"Oh yes, but I had prepared for that. I laid the knife on their bed. I knew my mother would pick it up. Then I started screaming. When I saw my mother stir, I ran to the neighbours. They went to look, just in time to see mother stand over the corpse with the murder weapon in her hand."

"And she was convicted?"

"Oh yes. Nobody wanted to believe her innocence."

Despite herself, Jenna became intrigued. "Didn't they put her to the lie detector test?"

"Yes, and she tested negative. But they thought that it was because she'd been too drunk to remember the deed."

THE PERFECT MURDER.\tab "What happened next?"

"I was placed with foster parents. They had two horrible children of their own and the father was even stricter than mine had been."

"So he had to go."

"Yes." A cunning smile appeared on Nurit's face. "The mother went shopping with her brats. He went to take a bath. He made it easy by leaving the door unlocked. I stepped into the bathroom and stabbed him before he knew what was happening. The blood coloured the water - such beautiful red. It was a pity I had to drain it and clean the bath, but I couldn't leave any traces."

"What did you do with the body?"

"I got it into a disposal bag. He was a slight man - folded up he just fitted. The bag I dragged to the disposal chute. I'm very strong."

THE STRENGTH OF MADNESS. The bag would have been automatically conveyed to the incinerator with the other rubbish.

Nurit grinned. "He was in the army - a desk job. They thought he'd deserted. As retribution his wife and kids were put into slavery. Of course I got free, not being a blood relative." She started to giggle. "Blood - sweet, beautiful blood, so lovely and red and sticky!"

Jenna almost gagged from revulsion. "And you were let loose on another foster family."

The giggling stopped abruptly. "She was a bitch but he was all right. He told me he liked me more than he liked her. So I thought if she was dead we would have a nice time together. I waited until they were sitting listening to their favourite music, then I sneaked up behind her and slit her throat." Nurit frowned. "I thought he'd be grateful and help me to get rid of the body. But he wanted to betray me."

Nurit caressed her knife. "I couldn't let him do that. I still had the knife. He tried to run..."

"But he wasn't quick enough." Jenna desperately tried to find a sign of Nurit's attention waning. In all her madness the girl seemed dishearteningly sharp.

"That's right, he wasn't. But he was tough - he bled all over me. When he was dead I ran to the neighbours. I told them he'd gone berserk, killing his wife and trying to kill me. That I had stabbed him in self-defence. They believed me and so did the police - at first."

"Then what went wrong?" Jenna tensed; the story seemed almost over and that was when the action would start again.

"That bloody camera! They'd been burgled, so they'd installed a security camera in the room. How could I know they'd left the thing running when they were at home?"

Still speaking, Nurit jumped at her. It was so quick that Jenna reacted almost too late. Stepping aside, she heaved her bar. Jenna felt a stab in her shoulder. Reeling, she blindly struck. The bar hit Nurit on the temple. Jenna saw her stagger for a moment, still clutching the knife. Then the girl collapsed.

Jenna grabbed the knife and began to run. The pain was cutting through her senses. She had to get out of here! She climbed through a hole in the wall, negotiated a corridor, then another. At the back of her brain floated the thought that she had to try to staunch the bleeding. Still running, she tried to cut a piece from her tunic to use as bandage. Her vision began to blur. The knife slid from her grip. Jenna pressed her hand against the wound. The blood felt warm and sticky. She could almost hear Nurit praising its quality...

Tapping into her last energy reserves, Jenna hurried on. Then she took a wrong step, landing hard on her hurt ankle. She felt something snap. Pain overwhelmed her. Hearing herself cry out, she fell into blackness.

* * * * * * *

"Jenna!" Cally sat up on her bunk, relief mingling with concern.

Spread out in a comfortable chair, Vila lowered his glass of adrenalin and soma. "What's wrong?"

"It's Jenna."

He stared at her. "You mean she's alive?"

"Yes, I felt her distress." Cally stood. "I must go to her."

"In your condition?" Vila jumped up, spilling his drink. "Remember what Avon said. You must rest."

"I must find her, Vila." She moved to the door.

Vila hurried to intercept her. "Why not call Avon?"

"We don't know where he is." She activated the door opening mechanism. "It may be inconvenient for him to have attention drawn to his bracelet."

"Then wait until he returns." Vila positioned himself in the doorway. "Knowing Avon, he won't stay a moment longer down there than strictly necessary."

"There's no time." Pushing him aside, she left her cabin, pleased to feel her body coping with the strain.

Vila came running after her. "How do you know where to go?"

"We know roughly where Jenna must have been at the time of the explosion." Cally entered the teleport room. Heading for the console, she continued: "If I move the co-ordinates slowly, I may be able to feel the right setting."

"You mean you're a psychic now as well as a telepath?"

Cally sat down at the console. "It is the best I can think of. Go to the wardrobe room and fetch me a white suit. Something in which I can pass for a rescue worker. Hurry, Vila!"

He was back within minutes. Cally quickly changed, noticing that she could move her back and legs normally. Praise Liberator's medical unit!

Vila ambled to the console. Checking the co-ordinates against Zen's blueprint, he said: "The operating-room?"

"Yes." Cally zipped up her white fluorescent jacket. "I think Jenna must be somewhere around there."

"She could be buried under tonnes of rubble."

"The teleport will put me down where's room." Cally checked her small emergency medikit, then took a handful of bracelets from the rack and put them in her other pocket. Clipping a bracelet on her wrist, she moved to stand in the bay. "Put me down."

"Avon won't be pleased, you know."

"That can't be helped. Teleport, Vila!"

"He'll blame me..." Vila's voice faded and she found herself in a large, sparsely lit room. A collection of lamps was hanging askew from the ceiling. The large conveyor belt meandering through the place left no doubt about its function. The operating room; at least the teleport had landed her at the right place.

"Jenna?" she called softly.

No reply, but now her eyes had become used to the dark, she saw a human figure lying in a heap on the floor. Cally hurried towards it. Blond hair, but longer than Jenna's, and straight. The coverall designated her as one of the prisoners. Cally lifted the figure's head, shocked to find her so young and frail. The girl's temple showed a nasty bruise but she was breathing evenly and didn't seem in discomfort.

What could a girl like this have done to justify her punishment? Maybe she was the daughter of rebel, made to pay for her parents' opposition? Or a hostage, like Sian's daughter, taken in retaliation for a resistance attack?

Cally took a bracelet from her pocket. After putting it on the girl's wrist, she activated her communicator. "Vila, get us up. Quickly."

For once his response was swift.

"Help me carry her to the medical unit," she told him.

"That's not Jenna."

"It must be one of the prisoners," she explained while they brought the girl to the sickbay. "We can't let her fall into their hands again."

"Of course not," Vila said, lifting the girl onto the examination bench. "Such a sweet thing."

"I must go back to search for Jenna," Cally said. "Try to bring her round. I don't think that wound is serious, but check it anyway. You know how to handle the scanner?"

"Yes." Uncharacteristically, Vila did not seem inclined to complain. Must be her pretty face, Cally thought uncharitably. "I'll put Orac on teleport duty."

"He's still in the teleport room," Vila said.

Cally hurried back. Cutting off Orac's protest, she went to stand in the teleport bay. "Put me down!"

Moments later she was back in the operating room.

* * * * * * *

Blake cursed silently; he'd have to brazen it out. Lifting his head, he got a second shock on recognising the arrogant face above the Central Security uniform.

"Ah, professor Kayn, I'm glad to see you are well and in such fighting spirit." Avon hadn't bat an eyelid; he must have heard him through the tent cloth. "I am commissioner Chevron, sent here on the president's special order to ensure the safety of you and your team." His gaze shifted and Blake realised that the official must have appeared behind him.

"It's all right," Avon said. "You don't have to concern yourself with the professor any longer." To Blake he continued smoothly: "You'll be glad to know, professor, that two members of your team have already been found alive and brought to safety. I'm sure you'll appreciate this example of the Federation's efficiency."

Some of the load lifted from Blake's heart - there must be hope for the others too. Impatiently he followed Avon away from the tents, mindful of his steps in the near dark.

"Who?" he asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Vila and Cally." Avon spoke softly. "Cally was hurt. It's all right - Liberator's facilities were up to it. She's resting now. Vila was unharmed."

Vaguely wondering how the accident-prone Vila had managed that, Blake stopped to survey the remains of the complex. The moving lights of the rescue workers and ambulances gave the place a ghostly look. It seemed a miracle that anyone had come out alive. "What happened?"

"A suicide mission by one of your hallowed freedom fighters. A woman you thought fit to admire."

"Sian," Blake exclaimed, struck by the logic. "A revenge for Shivan's death. Finishing what she had started eight years ago."

Avon nodded. "And this time she made sure to succeed. According to Orac, she must have been carrying up to 30 kilos of pyrogel on her body when she pulled the detonator."

"How do you know it was Sian?"

"Vila saw her."

"Then why the hell didn't he stop her?" Blake hissed.

"For one thing, he didn't recognise her - thirty kilos of explosives on the body can make even the slimmest woman look fat. For another, he didn't know what she was up to." Avon sighed. "It's futile to expect heroism from Vila, Blake. When he saw someone come his way, he did the sensible thing - unlocked the first door he came to and slipped inside to hide. Finding the intruder following him, he panicked and asked for teleport." Avon's eyes shone dangerously in the dark. "You'd have preferred it if he'd stayed and had been killed in the blast?"

"Of course not." Blake swallowed his ire. Avon was right, you couldn't expect heroics from Vila.

He clenched his fists in frustration. "Why didn't Sian contact me? It need not have been a suicide action!"

"I imagine she'd lost the will to live." Avon's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Also, her death would free her surviving daughter from the danger of being found and used against her."

"Yes." Blake cast his attention to practicalities. "Has Orac determined the exact location of the explosion?"

"Yes. It was the central vault, from where the blast would do the most damage. She did her homework all right."

Blake felt his admiration grow. "How did she get in?"

"Maybe as stowaway on the prison ship. Who cares?" Avon produced a bracelet. "Here, you'd better go up to Liberator."

"Not yet." Blake manoeuvred the bracelet up his right arm, where it was hidden by the sling. "I'm not leaving without Jenna and Gan."

He was aware of Avon eyeing him warily. "You realise that they are most likely dead?"

"No." Blake shut his mind for that thought. "They must have been near the outside, away from the centre of the explosion."

"You're clutching at straws!"

"Possibly." Blake held his gaze. "I'll accept their deaths when I see the bodies. Not before!"

Avon gave an exaggerated sigh. "All right, I'll stay here until they're found." He patted his uniform. "In this guise I can stick my nose in anywhere. You return to Liberator and get your wounds treated. I'll warn you when I've got news."

The thought was tempting. Blake felt suddenly very tired. And he didn't know how long the painkiller would hold. "No."

"Blake!" Avon grabbed him by his free arm. "It only takes one survivor to tell them there wasn't any professor Kayn visiting."

"Those survivors conscious enough to speak will be too occupied with their own misery to spare a thought for others."

Avon shook his head. "You're bound to be recognised sooner or later - your face is too well known."

"I'll keep out of the light."

"For logic's sake, go and make sure that Vila doesn't panic and runs with the ship, leaving us stranded here!"

Blake smiled to himself; Avon was never short of an argument. "We can leave that to Cally."

"Not if she's asleep."

"Then you go back."

"After the trouble it took me to set up my disguise?" Avon's eyes bore into his. "You are making my task harder."

Blake took a deep breath. "Avon, I'm staying!"

"All right, have it your way!" Avon let go of his arm. "Just don't get in my way. And remember, my name is commissioner Chevron."

"I will." Blake began to walk to the complex. "The South section must be over there. We'd better split up."

"What do you have in mind?" Avon seemed genuinely puzzled.

"To search, of course."

"You want to take a spade and start digging?" Avon's voice was thick with incredulity.

Blake dealt him a look of scorn. "You have a better suggestion?"

"Yes. Wait for the emergency services to do the job."

"It will be hours before they reach the area. That might be too late."

"You think you can move tonnes of rubble - with one hand?"

DAMN AVON! WHY HAD HE ALWAYS TO BE RIGHT?

Blake demonstratively took his arm from the sling. He removed the sling from his neck and bound it round his wrist, covering the bracelet. Under Avon's unreadable stare, he tied the ends of the fabric together, using his free hand and teeth. "We can call, see if anyone replies. You start over there, concentrate on the edge. They can't have come far."

Not waiting for a reply, Blake began to make his way to the ruins.

* * * * * * *

"Blake was a bit concerned about dealing with the Terra Nostra, but I said: 'Leave them to me!'" Vila paused, basking in Nurit's admiring gaze. It was a long time since someone had looked at him like that. Come to think of it, it was a long time since anyone had LISTENED to him.

Her smile was honey sweet. "You must be very clever, Vila."

"Oh, I am, I am. Not that they always appreciate it, here."

"Then you must make them." She downed the glass of adrenalin and soma he'd given her. "This is good stuff. It's cured my headache." She held out the glass. "I'd like another one."

Refilling his own glass, he shook his head. " I don't think it'll be good for you. That soma's not for children."

She lowered herself from the treatment bench. "This place is amazing."

"Best medical unit you'll find anywhere," Vila said.

"Yes, you must have lots of equipment." Nurit walked over to the storage wall. "Do you know what all this stuff is for?"

"Of course! Well, not ALL of it," he qualified, before she could take him to the test. "But I don't need to. The computer can tell me."

She stopped in front of a chest of drawers. "What's in here?"

"Operating tools, I think." Vila took a large swig from his glass, watching her try one of the handles.

"This is locked."

"Yes. Gan likes to keep the place tidy."

"I bet you can't open it."

"Of course I can." Vila put down his glass. "I'm an expert, you know. There isn't a lock I can't open." He strode over to the chest. He knew where the keys were kept, but he wasn't going to miss this chance for showing off his skills.

"Watch this!" He took a probe from his pocket and set to work.

"There, what did I tell you?" Standing triumphantly aside, Vila awaited her praise. A bit disappointed, he saw her pull open a drawer. "There's nothing of interest in there. Like I said, operating tools. Hey, do you think you should touch that? Those knives are sharp - you could hurt yourself."

Suddenly he felt icicles run up his spine. With horror he saw her face change while she picked up the knife. His survival instinct taking over, Vila began to move circumspectly to the doorway.

"Put that down, will you? That's no toy for girls. Well, I can see you're grown, but it's no toy for grown-up girls either..." Tearing his gaze loose from her shining eyes and mad grin, Vila turned and fled from the room.

"Zen, lock the medical unit door NOW!"

"Confirmed."

But the machine was too slow. Looking back from the end of the corridor, Vila saw Nurit slip through the gap just before the door slid shut.

"I'll get you!" she yelled, waving her knife.

Cursing Cally for landing him with this psychopath, Vila ran straight for the teleport room. He could hear her coming after him. Fear giving him speed, Vila shot into the room. Snatching a bracelet from the rack, he shouted: "Orac, teleport!"

"Where to?"

"Never mind." Hearing the pounding footsteps coming nearer, he jumped into the bay. "There's a maniac with a knife on the loose! Just put me down!"

"Very well."

Vila saw Nurit enter the room, the blade of her knife gleaming when it caught the light. Through the dematerialization effect he heard her shout:

"You'll have to come back. I'll be here, waiting!"

* * * * * * *

In the light of her torch Cally studied the floor. No blood here. She must try the other direction. She'd picked up the blood trail in the operating room. Her instinct telling her it was an important lead, she'd been following it through two corridors.

Cally backtracked through the corridor and turned into the other direction. She found the trail almost at once. The path was rough here, fallen debris making the going difficult. It was easy to miss your footing and sprain an ankle.

Going by the devastation she'd noticed when they'd lifted her from the rubble, it was a miracle that this part of the complex was still standing. But of course the clinic block had been destroyed in Sian's first attack. It must have been rebuilt since then, making it less worn than the rest of the complex.

Her torch causing a gleam in the rubble, Cally bent down. A knife, sharp and bloodied. Picking it up, she was gripped by a deep uneasiness. Something was wrong!

Clutching the knife, Cally resumed her way. The trail went on, still traceable although the drops had grown thinner and less frequent. She came upon another crossing. Shining her torch to the left, Cally drew in her breath. The blond wavy hair and purple jump suit made the prone figure instantly recognisable.

//Jenna!// Dropping the knife, Cally hurried to her, reaching to feel for a pulse. Finding one, she let out her breath in relief. It was slow but steady. She carefully turned the inert body on its side. The left shoulder of Jenna's suit was soaked with blood. Cally took a bracelet from her pocket and clamped it on Jenna's arm. The sooner she got her to the medical unit, the better. "Orac, teleport."

Impatiently she waited. Nothing happened. "ORAC!"

"Teleport is not advisable."

"This is an emergency!"

"Cally," came Vila's voice. She frowned, he always sounded jumpy but now his voice betrayed terror.

"What's the matter, Vila!" If he'd done something stupid, she'd make him rue it!

"It's Nurit..."

"Who?"

"That girl you brought aboard. She's stark raving mad. She came at me with a knife."

THE IDIOT! "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing. I'd brought her round and we were having a friendly chat. Then she starts searching through the sickbay. As soon as she finds that knife, she comes charging at me. She's mad, I tell you!"

Cally thought of the knife she'd found. She bent to take a closer look at Jenna's wound. Definitely made by a knife, and the slash could well match the blade of the one she'd found. It began to dawn on her that she might have made a terrible mistake.

"Where is she now?"

"Sitting in the teleport room, waiting to attack the first person to come up."

So that was what Orac had meant by 'not advisable'. "Then you'll have to get her out."

"Cally, I can't!"

"Stay calm, Vila! Listen, all you have to do is get a gun." Even a coward of Vila's calibre should be able to shoot someone in self-defence!

"Cally, you don't understand-"

"She can't be in two places at once. If she's in the teleport room, that leaves the way to the armoury free for you."

"But, Cally..."

"We have no time for discussion, Vila."

"I'm not aboard."

"WHAT?"

"I teleported down."

And that must have led the girl to the teleport room! Cally felt a fierce longing to carve Vila up - in very small pieces. "You incredible FOOL!"

"No need to shout! It wasn't my fault - you brought her aboard."

An irrefutable fact. Cally forced herself to think calmly. "Where are you?"

"Looks like the operating-room."

Of course! He wouldn't have had time to change the co-ordinates. "Listen, Vila, come here. I've found Jenna but she's in a bad way. Go through the hole in the wall, then left and left again."

"But I might get lost..."

"You can't miss us. Just follow the blood trail."

"You know I can't stand the sight of blood!"

"Just get here - quick! Out." Releasing the communicator button, she cut off any further protest.

Cally took the medikit from her pocket. Vila was right, she was responsible for bringing the girl aboard, and she would have to deal with it. But first she had to see to Jenna. In the light of her torch, she selected a canister of wound-sealing spray.

Hearing sounds, she looked up in time to see Vila stumble into sight.

"Bloody rubble - oh, there you are." His gaze fell on Jenna. "Is she dead?"

//Why do you humans always expect the worst?//

"Because that's usually what's about to happen."

"Here, hold the torch." Seeing him swallow, she added: "And don't you DARE to faint!"

Quickly she sprayed the gel onto the wound. It set almost immediately, staunching the blood and acting as disinfectant at the same time. "There, that will hold."

"What now?" Vila asked.

"You will stay with Jenna. I'll go up to Liberator to deal with this girl."

"Cally, you're crazy!"

"It's my fault that she is there. It is my duty to try to remedy that."

"'Try' being the operative word. You haven't a gun, have you?"

"No, but I have this." Cally picked up the knife. "I know how to use a knife."

"I take it you don't refer to table manners. Well, if you insist."

Cally could read from Vila's face that he reckoned her chances to be slim. She could not blame him, she didn't feel very confident herself. It was not only the fight - the most dangerous moment would be during the materialisation. The few seconds it took to consolidate might give her opponent the edge.

"It's a question of honour, Vila." She reached for her bracelet. "I'll tell Avon that we've found Jenna."

His sharp tongue might just bring her in the right mood for battle. No - if she was honest, she'd admit that she just wanted to hear his voice a last time.

"But you said we shouldn't draw attention to his bracelet," Vila protested.

Cally withdrew her finger, angry with herself for her lapse of caution. She should not let her emotion cloud her judgement. "That's true. I'll ask him to contact me." Forcing herself to concentrate, she began to send her thoughts: //Avon, listen.//

* * * * * * *

Sitting on a suitable piece of concrete, Avon idly watched Blake roaming through the rubble. He wondered how long it would take him to admit defeat. Going by Blake's usual performance, it might be quite a while.

Well, it kept him occupied. In the distance Avon could see the lights of the emergency workers. They were steadily approaching; another few hours and they would reach this section. Their methodical way might be slow, it was also sure. He had no doubt that in due course the bodies of Jenna and Gan would be retrieved.

He longed to go back to the Liberator for a drink and a quick shower. He was thirsty and hot, his outfit not being designed for this climate. But it might be imprudent to leave Blake out of his sight; Blake's talent for getting himself and his followers into trouble was unsurpassed.

//Avon, listen. Can you speak?//

Cally! He should have told her about finding Blake! Well, obviously her esteemed leader had also failed to think of that. A bit cheered by that thought, he reached under his sleeve for his bracelet. "Cally, I've found Blake."

"That is good news." She sounded distracted.

Vila's voice came through: "Is he all right?"

Avon looked at the dark figure, his white bandages just discernible. "Indomitable."

"Avon." Cally again. "I have found Jenna - she's alive."

"Well now." Blake had the devil's luck to have so many of his followers come out of this mess alive! It only needed Gan's survival to complete the miracle...

It dawned on him that he had left Cally on the Liberator. "Where are you?"

"In the complex, near the operating-room. You should be able to get a bearing on our bracelets."

Taking a small scanner from his pocket, he said: "I remember distinctly telling you to stay aboard and rest!"

"I felt Jenna's distress. I had to go to her aid, Avon."

"Of course." For a moment he felt a tinge of sympathy for Blake. It WAS frustrating to have no one under your command ever doing what they'd been told!

"I've got the bearing." He frowned. Three signals. DON'T TELL ME SHE'S FOUND GAN AS WELL! "Cally, who else have you got with you?"

"It's me!" Vila. He should have guessed. "You have to get us out of here, Avon! This place is blocked!"

How like Vila to overlook the obvious! "Use the teleport!"

"We can't! You see, Cally had found this wounded girl and brought her aboard. Only when I'd patched her up it turned out that she's a killer. She came at me with a surgical knife. Very ugly things to have waving at you! And now she's sitting in the teleport room, waiting to gut us all."

"I get the picture, Vila." Avon sighed. How had Blake managed to find all these followers sharing his talent for landing themselves in messes?

"It was my fault, Avon," Cally said. "I will go back and deal with her."

He nearly jumped from his improvised seat. "Don't be stupid!"

"I have a knife. That will make the chances even."

"You have NO chance. She'll be upon you before you're fully materialised."

"I'll have to take that risk."

"Cally!" He desperately tried to think of an argument that would get through. "You won't have any companions for your death."

"Avon, I will not have others brought into danger because of my action."

"No need for that. There is another solution." Leaving the voice connection with their bracelets open, he contacted the ship. "Orac."

"What is it?"

Avon knew he had to be careful, as the girl would be listening.

"Make Zen cease the O supply NOW!" Even if the girl knew the symbol for oxygen, it was unlikely that she would be able to find a spacesuit before it was too late.

"That will not be necessary." Orac sounded distinctly smug. "Anticipating your need, I took the initiative to make Zen release a quantity of zygmitholon-B into the teleport room."

"That's nasty stuff," Vila exclaimed. "It kills in seconds."

Avon had not known that Zen had access to that kind of measures. He found the thought very disquieting. Resolving on some very specific reprogramming, he asked Orac: "You mean the girl is already dead?"

"Yes."

"Then get us up, Orac," Cally said.

"That will not be possible."

"I thought it was too good to be true," Avon heard Vila murmur.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because it will take a hundred and eighty-eight minutes to filter the gas out of the life support system."

//My moondisk!//

That was the least of their concerns! Avon gritted his teeth; it was irrational to want to strangle a computer.

"That's more than three hours," Vila exclaimed.

"We can't leave Jenna here for that time," Cally said. "She needs a doctor urgently, Avon."

"And this place looks like it's going to collapse any minute," Vila added.

So they couldn't wait for the rescue teams after all. "All right, Cally. I'll get things moving. Just sit tight. And don't try any heroics! Out."

Rising, Avon looked at the ruins. His heart missed a beat. Several antigravity platforms were homing in on Blake. Head down, slowly traversing the place, he seemed not aware of them.

Avon reached for his bracelet but aborted the action, cursing. Too late! Blake was already surrounded. Suddenly caught in the headlights of the platforms, he looked like a fly in a web.

* * * * * * *

"Hey! You there!"

Blake looked up, squinting in the sudden light. He could vaguely make out the man sitting in the front of an antigravity platform.

"This is a restricted area."

Blake looked round. Other platforms were hovering near him, their occupants dark silhouettes. He had no trouble recognising their helmets and guns, though. Federation troopers.

"What are you doing here?"

The man's tone was irritating; Blake never took well to authority. "I am professor Kayn. I'm looking for members of my team, who must be buried here somewhere." He gave the speaker a forceful glare. "I expect assistance, not insolence!"

The lights were toned down. "Stay there, professor."

Troopers jumped from the platforms.

The man who had addressed him alighted more cautiously. He was small but wiry, with olive skin, thick black hair, very dark eyes and an impressive nose. "You have proof of identity?"

Blake patted his bandages. "Are you joking? My jacket and possessions got lost in the blast."

"How convenient!" The man gave him a scrutinising stare. "I've seen your face somewhere..."

"I can vouch for the professor."

Blake turned, as startled as the others. Trust Avon to manage a silent approach over a field of rubble.

"He bears some resemblance to a certain... celebrity." For a moment Avon's eyes held a mischievous gleam. "I am commissioner Chevron, on special assignment from the president." He dealt the speaker a supercilious gaze. "And you are?"

"Singh. I'm the governor of this planet."

He appeared less intimidated than they could have hoped for. Blake frowned. He had the feeling that he'd heard that name before.

"Governor." Avon gave him a brief nod. "I was impressed by your handling of the Bresson corruption case."

Of course, the Singh Enquiry! Blake remembered the highly publicised investigation. Singh's ruthless exposure had cost some high-ranking officials their heads. Apparently it had earned him a governorship.

Singh seemed to unthaw somewhat under Avon's words, although he still looked wary.

"I'm not here to trot on your toes, governor," Avon said. "My brief is to get the professor and his team to safety." He turned to Blake. "I've managed to establish contact with some members of your team. They are trapped in the clinic area. I have the exact location."

GAN AND JENNA, Blake thought, overwhelmed by relief.

"I was about to summon a rescue team," Avon went on, "when I saw you being accosted by the governor."

Remembering his audience, Blake snapped: "Then what are you waiting for, commissioner!"

"Wait," Singh said. "My men can do the job." He hailed the troopers. "Back to your vehicles and follow us." Climbing onto his own craft, he said: "Just tell my pilot where to go."

Blake followed Avon onto the governor's vehicle. 'Flying carpets', they were called, he remembered, after some old Earth legend. Each platform held two pairs of seats, one behind the other, and a crude dashboard at the front. Not providing the least protection from the elements and not able to rise higher than a few metres above the surface, they were the cheapest of transport vehicles. On Earth, a governor wouldn't want to be seen dead in one; apparently standards were not so high on the outer planets.

They were sitting in the back, the governor having taken the seat next to his pilot. Impatiently Blake listened to Avon calling out the directions.

"Halt," Avon said. He pointed forward. "The signal comes from there."

The pilot made the craft hover just above the ground. Here parts of the buildings were still standing. Alighting, Blake reflected that their recognisability brought home the devastation more acutely than the piles of anonymous rubble.

He joined Avon and the governor, who were assessing the situation with cold competence.

"If we can clear that space," the governor was saying, "it should give us access."

Avon nodded. "But take care not to cause the place to collapse any further."

"You can leave that to my men." The governor went to deal out his instructions.

"He still doesn't trust me," Blake observed as soon as the governor was out of earshot.

"That's why he volunteered his troopers' services," Avon replied softly.

"Let's hope his memory doesn't improve," Blake said. "If he recognises them - both Jenna and Gan are quite distinctive."

"Jenna's down there but we haven't found Gan."

Blake felt a stab of disappointment. "You spoke of my team members."

"Cally and Vila are with her."

"Then why don't they teleport her up?" A cold lump formed in his chest; she must be too weak to stand it.

"They can't. We won't be able to return to Liberator for the next three hours."

"What?" Blake used his good hand to grab Avon by the tunic. "Why not?"

"Keep your voice down! Some poisonous gas got into the teleport room. It will take the system that long to filter it out."

Feeling defeated, Blake let go of the tunic. "How did that happen?"

"Cally stumbled onto one of your cherished prisoners."

With sinking heart Blake listened to Avon's explanation. "A fine example of computer logic! Solving a problem by-"

"Commissioner! Professor!"

Blake saw the governor wave at them. A thought struck him. "We must warn the others - if Vila lets out one wrong word..."

"Too late," Avon hissed. "It will look suspicious if we don't stick with the diggers - and him!"

He was right, Blake thought, hurrying towards the governor. DAMN!

* * * * * * *

Jenna felt hot. Automatically she reached out to the panel above her bunk to turn down the heating. The movement brought on a bout of pain. She gasped.

"Jenna!"

Opening her eyes, she saw Cally's anxious face. For a moment Jenna felt totally bewildered, then the memories came back: the mission, an explosion, the trek through the ruins, Nurit...

"Where am I?" Stupid question. In the faint light she could see the rubble-strewn corridor. Cables were hanging from the ceiling and broken pipes ran along one wall. Further on, debris was blocking the passage.

"In the clinic section," Cally replied. "How do you feel?"

"Bloody awful. I think I've broken my ankle."

"I'll give you a painkiller. I saved it until you came to as we've got only the one dose." Jenna felt a slight stab. "There, that should hold until we can get you proper care."

Jenna relaxed when the pain abated. Finding a bracelet on her arm, she frowned. "Why not go back to the ship?"

Cally was bending over her leg. "We can't."

"You mean Avon has absconded!" Her outrage was mingled with a cold satisfaction. "I knew he would!"

//You do him an injustice, Jenna.// "Liberator's still there. But we can't go back just now. It was my fault - and Vila's."

"What?" Vila looked up from where he sat against the wall, arms round his pulled up knees. He was looking even more miserable than usual, Jenna noticed. "I didn't bring that maniac aboard!"

"You led her to the teleport room."

"Well, what choice did I have?"

NURIT! With rising fury Jenna listened to Vila's garbled self-defence. It was coherent enough for her to get the picture. "You mean she's sitting there waiting to stab anyone coming up?"

"No," Cally said. "Orac dealt with the problem, but in doing so created a new one."

"Overrated pile of circuits," Vila said, visibly cheering at the chance for redistributing the blame. "He made Zen pump in a gas that killed her. But it'll take three hours to pump it out again. We can't go back sooner."

Jenna swallowed a lump of bitterness. "I should have stopped to check that Nurit was dead!"

"You were wounded," Cally said. "In pain, losing blood. Nobody can be expected to keep a clear head under those circumstances." She rose. "That leg seems swollen. I think it's better not to try to remove the boot just now."

Remembering her struggle to get it on - when her ankle had been merely sprained - Jenna nodded grimly. A thought struck her. "What about Avon? Don't tell me he got caught by that gas."

"Of course not," Vila said. "He'd never settle for such a banal death."

"He went to look for you," Cally said.

That seemed highly unlikely to Jenna. "What did you do to force him? Put a gun to his head?"

She caught Cally's patient headshake, the one that made you feel like a wayward child. Damn the Auronar with their superiority complexes!

"He's found Blake," Cally continued.

THANK THE STARS! "Is he safe?"

"I think so. Avon's with him, posing as a Federation officer."

"Avon is?" Jenna could picture the scene. "That should give him no trouble!"

"Born for the part," Vila agreed.

Jenna tried to find a more comfortable position on the debris-strewn floor. "So it must have been Gan's bombs that caused the explosion."

"No, Jenna. It was Sian." Vila embarked on another explanation.

She felt an irrational urge to burst out in laughter. The sheer, STUPID, coincidence! "So we could have left the job to her and spared us this mess."

"It's a pity my shot didn't kill her," Cally said.

Jenna cast her mind back to the occasion; at the time she'd been vaguely relieved that Cally's shot had merely stunned Sian. "We weren't to know."

"Well, she was pretty far gone," Vila said. "Another lunatic. Where are all the nice women?"

"Shut up!" Jenna told him.

"I'm only saying-"

"QUIET, Vila!" Cally held up her hand. "Listen."

Now Jenna heard it too. "Rescue workers?"

Cally nodded. "They are close. Quickly, hide your bracelets!"

Jenna had just draped her sleeve over hers, when she heard footsteps behind the corner of the corridor. The next moment people were emerging. Federation troopers!

Then she saw Blake, bruised and bandaged, followed by a Security official in full attire. She couldn't make out the official's features, as he was standing with his back to the light. His voice was unmistakable, though:

"I'm commissioner Chevron." He turned to address Blake. "Professor Kayn, I take it that these are members of your team?"

Professor Kayn! Jenna smiled to herself. Trust Blake to choose the perfect bastard to impersonate. And Avon looked every bit the Federation officer. That uniform fitted him, and not only in the physical sense.

"Better get you out quick," Avon said. "This doesn't look very stable."

"Right." Vila got up. "Just show the way."

Jenna tensed, expecting him to do something stupid, like blurting out their names.

//Remember - no names!// So Cally had grasped the danger too.

"Can you two walk?" Blake asked.

"I think my ankle's broken."

Blake picked her up. Jenna closed her eyes, for a moment just delighting in being in his arms. She could have wished for more happy circumstances, though.

Opening her eyes, she was almost blinded by the glare of strong headlights. Jenna quickly looked away. When her eyes had adjusted themselves, she recognised some half dozen 'flying carpets'. Above her head stars were shining brilliantly in the dark sky. The dome had gone - the explosion must have been gigantic. How had any of them managed to come out of it alive?

She saw a man approach. He moved with the unmistakable air of authority. "I've summoned an ambulance team." His voice was unexpectedly low.

"Governor Singh," Avon introduced him.

Jenna found the governor's gaze on her. His eyes were roving over her body, following the curves under her tight suit and clearly enjoying the sight. Blake didn't seem to notice. Unsure whether to be flattered or offended, Jenna decided that this wasn't the time for a confrontation. She gave the governor a weak, girly smile.

"It was the governor's personal guard that dug you out," Avon explained.

"You have our thanks," Jenna heard Cally say.

Two specks of light appeared, growing as they came closer.

"That must be the ambulance," Jenna said.

"Ah, yes." The governor tore his gaze away from her with visible reluctance.

The craft came to a halt. Jenna saw two men alight from it, both clad in the standard fluorescent white. The first one was a total stranger. The second made her think she must be dreaming. Gan!

Carrying a stretcher, he ambled forward, a look of blank cheerfulness on his face. Suddenly he frowned.

For Jenna time seemed to stop. She knew what would happen. She wanted to warn him, stop him, but knew it would be too late.

With a feeling of doom she saw his face light up. She was aware of the others looking on, frozen, while Gan uttered the fateful word: "Blake!"

* * * * * * *

AND HE HAD TO SAY SOMETHING ABOUT ME DROPPING THAT GUN! Vila held his breath, hoping against hope that the governor would not have heard.

No such luck! The man gave a shout of triumph. "Blake! Of course! I knew he looked familiar."

Reaching for their guns, the troopers moved to surround the group. Gan and the other paramedic stood watching in incomprehension, while the faces of Blake and the women - Jenna snugly in Blake's arms - betrayed a mixture of defeat and fury.

Only Avon seemed to remain his cold self. "You should have recognised him straight away, governor!"

Singh gave him a cool stare. "I seem to remember you vouching for him, commissioner."

"Of course. I played the game along."

"Why would you want to do that?" Vila could almost see the suspicion rise in Singh's mind.

"That should be obvious! I wanted to catch the whole group."

Keeping an eye on the troopers, Vila began to move cautiously backwards. If he could get out of the light, he might be able to escape..."

"You, guards!" Avon's voice cut through his thoughts. "Don't you see he's trying to escape?"

Finding the troopers' guns on him, Vila quickly held up his hands. "Didn't take you long to change sides!" he mumbled, shuffling back into the light.

Avon turned to the governor. "You could wish for more reliable guards."

Not reacting, Singh seemed engrossed in the consultation of what looked to Vila like a portable electronic dataholder.

Avon made an impatient gesture. "Let's get them under lock and key. I take it you have a secure place to hold them until I can arrange for their transport to Earth?"

The governor looked up from his device. "Don't take me for a fool, Avon!"

SERVES HIM RIGHT!

To Vila's surprise, Avon seemed to remain totally unperturbed. "I told you, I am commissioner Chevron."

"And Kerr Avon is your evil twin," the governor said.

"Of course not." Avon had assumed an air of boredom. "My real name is Chevron. Central Security can vouch for me, I'm one of their top agents. Kerr Avon is the identity I took on to infiltrate the rebels."

"I see," the governor drawled. "You knew Blake would escape from the prison ship and end up with an alien spacecraft! Clairvoyant, are you? I happen to know that Blake getting hold of that craft was pure chance."

"I wasn't after Blake!" Avon began to pace through the rubble with impatient steps. "One of the criminals to be transported to Cygnus Alpha on the prison ship London was a failed rebel called Nova. Very small fry, and his only claim to fame was that he happened to be a kinsman of Shivan." He stopped in front of the governor. "You must have heard of the late lamented Shivan!"

The governor folded his arms. "Go on."

Avon gave him a cold smile. "It was expected that Shivan would send a ship to intercept the London and free Nova. I was to gain Nova's confidence and make sure to get rescued along with him, in order to join Shivan's group without raising suspicion." He resumed his pacing. "Of course this required an identity that could stand up to scrutiny. Posing as a rebel might have made Shivan suspicious, that's why we chose the bank fraud. Let him think I was a real criminal."

Vila tasted bile in his throat. I'VE ALWAYS KNOWN THERE WAS SOMETHING FISHY ABOUT HIM!

"So I went through a mock trial and took my place among the prisoners," Avon continued. "But the rescue ship never came. Then I got wind of Blake planning a revolt. Rather than having the sixteen months of the London's round trip wasted, I decided to join him. A gamble, but it paid off better than any of us could have anticipated. While playing the reluctant revolutionary, I gained priceless information about the various rebel groups Blake made contact with. A pity my cover is blown now. But at least I'll be able to hand this bunch of criminals over to Central Security."

BASTARD! Vila felt like crying. I HOPE HE STRINGS YOU UP ALONGSIDE US!

But he saw the governor waver. Vila understood his predicament - a wrong decision could ruin his career.

"If my word isn't enough for you," Avon said, "feel free to contact Central Security." His voice held a tone of finality. "Meanwhile, I suggest that we take these criminals into custody. Have a doctor tend to that woman. I intend to deliver them all alive and in good condition."

FIT FOR INTERROGATION. Giving way to a sudden bout of panic, Vila ran to the governor. "You're making a mistake. I don't belong to them. I've never been a rebel at heart!" Deep inside he knew it was no use, but that never stopped him. "Please. I've been only along for the ride."

He saw the blow coming, but was too slow to avoid the butt of the trooper's gun. Vila's world dissolved into blackness.

* * * * * * *

Blake sat fuming on the hard floor of the governor's mobile headquarters, a hovervan of about six by four metres that had been parked near the field hospital. Its interior was Spartan, with a row of desks along one of its long sides and a number of chairs that did not look comfortable. The desks were stuffed with electronic equipment, among which Blake recognised a powerful communicator with viz-screen. The only exit was in one of the short sides. At the opposite side were two narrow doors, leading to, Blake assumed, lavatory facilities.

The prisoners had been placed along the free long side, Blake at the centre. About a metre to his left, Vila sat moaning softly, sporting a colourful bruise on his forehead. Cally sat the same distance away at his other side, a defiant gleam in her eyes. Gan sat in the left corner, head hanging. Their captors weren't taking any risks, Blake thought. Avon had personally secured their hands behind their backs with metal handcuffs, even Jenna's. She sat in the other corner, near the exit, her bandaged ankle stretched out in front of her. A doctor had come to tend to her wounds and put her ankle in a cast. He'd wanted to take her to a hospital, but Avon had refused, arguing that he wanted to keep an eye on them all. After making a formal protest, the doctor had left.

Two troopers stood guard at the exit door, guns at the ready. Avon lounged in one of the chairs, a haughty smile on his face, as if he didn't have a care in the world. The governor was at the central desk. Ignoring Avon as well as the prisoners, he was issuing instructions to his secretary, a groomed young man with the smooth, bland manners of a born civil servant.

The van held one other occupant, a stiff backed, thin lipped woman who seemed cast into her tight black uniform. Her blond hair was so closely cropped that from a distance she looked bald. She had introduced herself to Avon as captain Zonsma, the governor's adjutant, which Blake had translated as the Central Security official delegated to keep an eye on the governor.

She seemed inclined to accept Avon's identity. Probably as much as a demonstration to the governor than out of any real conviction, Blake suspected.

A buzzer on the communicator sounded. The secretary replied, then handed the speaker to the governor.

"Yes." Singh sounded harassed. "I'll hold a press conference later. No, at this stage we can't be sure about the cause of the accident." For a moment Blake found the governor's dark eyes on him, indicating that he had a very specific idea about who had caused the carnage but thought it prudent to keep that to himself for the moment.

"I'm NOT going to speculate!" Singh slammed the speaker into his secretary's hand. "Get me Central Security, someone who can verify the identity of 'Commissioner Chevron'." His tone betrayed his scepticism about Chevron's credentials.

Blake saw the captain stiffen at this open declaration of distrust. Singh's scornful glance at her expressed all too clearly his contempt for the institution she represented. He must be a brave man. But he'd already proven that with his corruption enquiry. It was a consolation that there were still officials like him in the Federation. Still, right now they could have done with a less astute captor.

Blake refused to believe Avon's tale of treason. It didn't tally. On the London Avon had not been fraternising with Nova, he'd kept himself very much to himself. Blake remembered how it had taken all his powers of persuasion to make Avon join them.

Of course, he could have been playing hard to get...

No! He did not want to believe such treachery! Avon might have chosen to close his eyes to the Federation's atrocities but Blake could never imagine him wanting to participate in them.

Avon must be biding his time. That was why he'd refused to let Jenna be taken to a hospital. It was sensible to keep them together, even if it meant extra hardship for her. She seemed to be coping, he noticed with relief. She was looking less pale than when he'd carried her from the ruins.

Blake wished he knew how much time had passed. But even if he'd not lost his watch, he'd been unable to consult it, with his hands tied behind his back. And speculation was no use. He'd simply have to wait.

Avon appeared not in the least worried about the governor contacting Central Security. He must be banking on it taking Singh longer than the required time to get through to someone in authority.

Captain Zonsma had taken up position between the two inner doors, from which strategic point she could keep an eye on the governor as well as the prisoners. Singh had settled into more deliberations with his secretary. They were speaking softly and Blake found it impossible to follow their conversation.

He was brought out of his concentration by Avon lazily turning to address the captain: "Heard of any Space Command blunders, recently?"

The perfect question to allay any suspicions she might harbour, Blake thought, admiring. Central Security and Space Command were forever at each other's throat.

Zonsma seemed thrown by the question.

Avon made a vague gesture at the prisoners. "I've been rather out of it." For a moment his face was lit by a brilliant smile.

YES, HE CAN BE A CHARMER WHEN HE WANTS!

Blake saw the captain unbend a little.

"The rumour goes that they've sent that psychopath Travis to undergo retraining therapy."

"Indeed?" Avon didn't seem very interested in Travis's fate.

"Much too late, if you ask me," Zonsma added.

Much, MUCH too late, Blake agreed silently. A madman like Travis should never have been allowed into the army!

Avon nodded. "Genocidal maniacs like him give the Federation a bad name."

"Exactly," Zonsma said, apparently oblivious to the veiled sarcasm.

"Any news about that renegade Grant?" Avon asked, and Blake perceived a sudden tension in his voice.

"Not a whisper, commissioner."

"Then the rumours of his death must be true." Voice barely audible, Avon seemed to be speaking to himself.

"You've heard about that prototype pursuit ship they said got self-destructed during tests?" Zonsma asked, visibly warming to the theme.

"Yes?" The tension had gone, replaced by mild curiosity.

A glimmer of life appeared in the captain's pale eyes. "Replicas have turned up, built by the Scalerians."

Avon whistled. "What did Space Command have to say about that?"

"That their readings must have been false. They now claim the craft must have turned rogue instead of self-destructing."

"While it's much more probable," Avon said, "that it got stolen."

Zonsma nodded. "Did you know that one of their most promising Space Academy cadets disappeared around the same time? Bright boy, top of his class three years in a row. The type who would never desert unless he could see a very large profit in it."

"Like the proceeds of selling a prototype pursuit ship to the Scalerians."

"Or letting them study its systems. The rumours go he's turned pirate - he'd want to hold on to a fast ship..." She fell silent at the buzzing of the desk communicator.

The Secretary took the call. "Central Security headquarters, sir."

Despite his situation, Blake found some satisfaction in following the ensuing conversation. As expected, the governor's questions were met with bland bureaucratic refusal. Central Security never gave information about their agents. Governor Singh was not vetted. He'd best present his request through the official channels...

Blake smiled to himself. Avon must have known that this would happen.

But Singh did not give up. As he demanded to be put through to ever more high-ranking officials, Blake began to understand how he'd done such a brilliant job on the corruption investigation. Singh simply refused to be fobbed off, holding on to his request with the tenacity of a Lindorian leech until his opponent put him through to a superior as the only way to be rid of him.

Singh having to wait every time for the next official to come on the line, the process took time. Blake estimated that about an hour must have gone by when a new, very drawling voice came on.

"This had better be important."

Singh looked up from the report he'd been studying. "Secretary Rontane!"

Blake knew the name. Rontane was the president's permanent secretary. He'd never have guessed that he was involved with Central Security. But in a world where all influences were linked it made sense, of course.

With sinking spirits Blake held his breath while the governor posed his question for the umpteenth time; Avon's bluff was about to be called.

"He has my full support."

For a moment Blake thought he had misheard. From where he sat he could just see the smooth face that filled the small viz-screen: dark hair; brown eyes; insincere, vaguely threatening smile. He took it in without really noticing. But the words came through, stabbing him in the heart:

"I have the greatest confidence in the commissioner and I require that he'll be given all the assistance he requests. That is all."

NO, IT COULDN'T BE! AVON AS A FEDERATION AGENT... Blake looked at the now empty screen, then at Avon's inscrutable face. How could he have been so utterly mistaken in him?

* * * * * * *

Feeling sick, Cally watched the screen go blank. //Avon, have you no honour? How can you sit there with your head held high? You are despicable!//

Fiercely she projected her outrage at him. All she got in return was a raised eyebrow and a faint, mocking smile.

//How dare you still look me in the eye!//

Cally gave up when he turned calmly to address the governor: "I take it you are satisfied?"

"I accept the secretary's word." Singh's tone made clear that he was far from satisfied and would have dearly liked to put the handcuffs on commissioner Chevron.

THAT GOVERNOR BEARS HIMSELF LIKE A MAN OF HONOUR, Cally thought. HE DOES NOT ADMIRE SPIES AND TRAITORS.

"Then be so good to arrange for a spacecraft to be put at my disposal at once." Avon rose, his air of lazy amusement gone. "You've wasted enough of my time!"

"Why not ask Space Command?" Singh suggested sourly.

"And have my prisoners end up at their Headquarters instead of Earth? Now you are taking me for a fool, governor!"

Cally saw Singh clench his fists. "Regrettably I have no suitable craft available."

Avon gave him a sceptical stare. "What about your personal ship?"

"That is under repair..."

"It's not," Zonsma said. "He keeps it ready for take off at all times."

"Very wise." Avon produced a nasty grin, seemingly oblivious to the look of ire Singh was casting the captain. "There's no knowing when you'll be needing to get out fast, is there, governor? Let the rations be checked and arrange for a crew plus a contingent of guards. Oh, and I want a doctor be added to the crew."

"We can't spare any right now," Singh snapped. "Have you forgotten that carnage out there?"

Stressing every syllable, Avon repeated: "You Will Ar-range For A Doc-tor! I'm not going to take any risk with my precious cargo." He turned his back on Singh, then turned to face him again. "One other thing, governor. You will keep quiet about this catch. I can understand you being eager to arrest someone for this carnage-"

"Not someone, commissioner!" Singh's eyes flashed with fury. "I want the perpetrators!"

YES, HE IS A MAN OF HONOUR.

"...But I can assure you," Avon went on as if he had not been interrupted, "that this isn't Blake's work."

"I didn't think it was," Singh said to Cally's surprise. "He'd hardly blow the place up over his own head."

"Quite," Avon said. "I've no doubt that you'll get to the bottom of this case with your customary acumen. Meanwhile, I don't want my prisoners being waylaid by Space Command. Therefore, not a word of their capture must get out."

"As you wish," Singh said stiffly.

"Don't worry, governor." Avon's smile was sickening. "Your co-operation will be rewarded. Once I've delivered my prisoners, I'll see you get the full credit for catching them. You'll appreciate that my role in their capture has to remain secret."

SO HE CAN GO AND PLAY HIS IGNOBLE GAME WITH OTHER REBELS. NO, HE MUST NOT GET AWAY WITH IT!

Cally furiously began to tear at her handcuffs. Her hands were as thin as the rest of her body, it must be possible to wriggle out of the cuffs. Desperately she tried to squeeze her hands through, but the metal withstood her attempts.

Feeling her bracelet begin to slip down her arm, she rubbed it against her back to bring it up again, safely hidden under her sleeve. Then its significance hit her.

HE DIDN'T TAKE OUR BRACELETS!

Avon must have forgotten them - no, he was too intelligent for such an oversight!

That could mean only one thing. Avon was still on their side! Her heart leaping with joy, Cally began to send out her thoughts: //Blake, Jenna, Vila, Gan. Do not despair. It's not as it seems. He left us our bracelets!//

* * * * * * *

BUT I'VE LOST MINE, Gan thought, remembering how he'd taken it off. What an IDIOT he'd been! And blurting out Blake's name - that had been unforgivable.

He wasn't fooled by Avon's alleged treachery. You couldn't live so closely with other human beings without getting to know them. Rontane's testimony must have been some clever deception. Not once had he mentioned Chevron by name - Rontane could have been talking about any commissioner in the Federation.

But why didn't Avon teleport them up? Did he fear that the troopers would get the chance to shoot them before the dematerialization was complete?

If so, what they needed was a distraction. Gan must provide one. He had brought them into this mess, now was the time to make up for that. If he could divert the troopers' attention, that might give the others the chance to get away.

Throwing off his lethargy of defeat, Gan began to set his mind to the task. First he needed to get his hands free. The chain of his handcuffs didn't seem too solid. If he could find something to wedge it on.

He wasn't surprised when, on feeling behind him, he came upon the metal pin of the lower door hinge, sticking out some two centimetres above the hinge. It felt solid - and just the right size! Gan smiled to himself. If you remained optimistic, things always came your way. Concentrating, he began to push one of the chain's links over the pin. Collecting his strength, Gan began to push his hands downwards. Ignoring the pain in his wrists, he pushed and pushed. Something had to give soon...

"You! Stop that!" Gan saw Avon advance upon him. "Captain, he's trying to force his handcuffs right under your eyes!"

Zonsma had drawn her gun. "Sit away from there!"

Gritting his teeth, Gan obeyed, pulling the chain from the pin. Confusing thoughts raced through his head. Why would Avon want to stop him? Could he really be a Federation agent?

Avon was bending over him. "You'd better check the others, captain."

Gan felt his sleeve being pushed up. He tensed. Was Avon going to inject him? Then something was clipped around his arm, and the sleeve quickly pulled over it.

A teleport bracelet!

"Don't do anything foolish!" Avon said, straightening. "That goes for all of you! Resistance is futile!"

Gan sat in silent wondering. That must have been why Avon had waited with teleporting them up - he'd wanted him along. Despite Gan having landed him in the mess, Avon had not wanted to abandon him. Gan felt gratified that his gut-feeling about him had been right after all.

But why didn't he give the order for teleport now?

* * * * * * *

Avon observed the discomfort of his prisoners with cold detachment. This should teach them not to follow Blake, but he knew that the lesson would be wasted. Charismatic idealists like Blake always attracted followers. A penchant for suicide seemed ingrained into the human nature.

He'd resumed his seat. Judging that consulting his watch too often might arouse suspicion, he'd positioned his chair so that he could see the clock on the desk. Time dragged, as it always did when you were waiting.

After checking the prisoners' handcuffs Captain Zonsma had taken up her position between the doors again. The troopers were still at the exit door. At his desk, the governor had ostentatiously buried himself in his work, occasionally issuing orders to his secretary, who was sitting at another desk in front of a small computer.

Singh seemed intent on ignoring Avon as much as possible. Well, that suited him fine!

ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES MORE TO GO.

Avon rose nonchalantly and began to move to the back. "Keep an eye on them, captain," he told Zonsma while opening the left of the two narrow doors.

Not waiting for a reply Avon went in. The cubicle was small but clean. Not surprising; Singh didn't come over as a man who'd suffer slovenliness from his underlings.

After carefully closing the door, Avon pulled up his sleeve, baring his bracelet. His hand above the communication button, he hesitated. He could get out alone. Leave the others. If they stayed with Blake, captivity and death would be their ultimate fate anyway. Better let it be now, than subject them to further years of futile freedom fighting.

Or he could detach himself from Blake and Liberator. Steal the governor's ship. No, that craft wouldn't be fast enough to outrun pursuit ships and for such an occasion Space Command and Central Security would suspend their animosity and combine to send everything at their disposal after him.

Besides, he wanted Liberator.

Avon pressed the button. "Orac, lower your volume!"

"What is it?" Although just discernible, the voice was as pedantic as ever.

"How long before the filtering process will be completed?"

"Eleven minutes and fifty-three seconds."

"Good."

He could go alone. Liberator was his. Why burden himself further with Blake and his bunch of mindless sheep?

No, the time for dumping them had not yet come. He still needed them. The reason why escaped him for the moment, but he knew there was one.

Quickly, before he would change his mind, Avon instructed: "Bring us all up the moment the process is completed. Don't wait for a further order, Orac. Just do it!"

"As you wish."

The connection was cut even before he released the button. Hiding his bracelet again under his sleeve, Avon smiled to himself; good manners were not part of Orac's programming.

He looked at his watch. Only ten more minutes to go now. He'd better return to the others, there was no knowing what lunacy they might get up to. It needed more than a few Federation guns pointing at his guts to make Blake consider himself beaten.

* * * * * * *

Seeing Avon return, that superior smirk on his face, made Jenna's anger boil over. She'd never trusted him, and now she was proven right! Blake should have listened to her.

Leaving them the bracelets had to be a cruel joke. Or else it was a ruse to allay their suspicion. Left alone on Liberator, he'd had ample opportunity to manipulate Zen. Probably with Orac's wholehearted help, that computer was as treacherous as Avon!

Not for a moment did Jenna doubt that he was what he claimed - a Federation agent. She didn't think he was as dedicated as he pretended, though. She wouldn't be surprised if, aboard Liberator, he'd been sitting comfortably on the metaphorical fence, waiting which way to jump. If Gan's blunder hadn't forced him to blow his cover, Jenna had no doubt that Avon would have gone back with them to Liberator, keeping up his pretence. He didn't seem all that eager to take up his place amongst the other Central Security thugs again. Probably didn't fancy handing over the Liberator!

But he didn't have to! Suddenly Jenna saw Avon's intention with glaring clarity. He'd sell them to the Federation, but would keep the Liberator for himself. That was why he wanted another craft to take them to Earth. And why he had not once mentioned the Liberator! He would spin his masters a tale about the ship being destroyed, take the rewards for their capture, and return to Liberator with the loot.

But he wouldn't get away with it, Jenna vowed silently. She'd stop him, if it was the last thing she'd do!

A memory hovering at the back of her mind, she began to search the floor behind her back with renewed determination. There MUST be something she could use...

There was. Her finger touched something that felt like a small plastic bottle. She remembered now - it was the one that had held the medplasta the doctor had used for her cast.

Jenna's medical knowledge was limited, but she clearly remembered the course in first aid that had been compulsory for her pilot's exam. Poured over a bandage, medplasta would set in seconds, producing a cast that would immobilise the limb and was strong enough to walk on. It was harmless on human skin or plastic but caused metal to dissolve. She could hear the voice of the instructor in her head: 'Make sure never ever to spill even the slightest drop onto metal, for the medplasta will eat through it in seconds.'

Jenna didn't dare to shift her position - she must avoid attracting attention. The nearest of the troopers at the exit door was standing less than a metre away from her. Stretching her bound hands as far as she could, Jenna tried to grab the bottle. But she could not get a hold on the smooth plastic, every time she touched it with her finger it shoved further away. She HAD to get closer to it.

Avon's voice almost made her jump. "I could do with a drink."

THE PERFECT DISTRACTION!

Thank you, Avon, she thought, seeing all heads turn his way except for the governor who remained bent over his desk.

"Iced water or fruit juice, sir," Singh's secretary asked obligingly.

Jenna began to work her way sideways.

"Wine, I should think. After all, I do have something to celebrate."

"I'm sorry, commissioner..."

Her fingers got hold of the bottle.

"...We have no wine."

The chain between the handcuffs was just long enough to allow for the motion needed to screw off the cap, carefully resealed by the doctor.

"I disapprove of drinking on duty," Singh remarked, not looking up from his desk.

Praying that the bottle still held a few drops, Jenna pushed the opening against the chain and awkwardly turned the bottle upside down.

Immediately a hissing started. Jenna thought the sound must be audible through the whole van, but just at that moment Avon raised his voice: "You!" He waved at the troopers. "Fetch me some wine. And some vitamin solutions for my prisoners. We must keep them in good health. Go, both of you - NOW!"

They obeyed swiftly, visible relishing this break in their monotonous duty. Zonsma moved over to take up their place, positioning herself at Jenna's side of the door. Avon turned his eyes back to the governor's desk.

This was almost too good to be true, Jenna thought, heart pounding in her chest. Unless Singh and his secretary were carrying concealed weapons, it left Zonsma as the only armed person in the van - and within her reach.

Suddenly her hands were free. Jenna launched herself sideways, tackling Zonsma. In one fluent motion she lifted Zonsma's gun from its holster and aimed it.

//Jenna, NO!//

She fired.

"No, Jenna!"

Blake's shout ringing in her ear, she saw Avon grab his shoulder, gasping. Damn, she'd been aiming for his heart!

She took aim again. Catching a movement to her left, she saw Cally jump up. Jenna pulled the trigger just as Cally's foot hit her gun hand. The blast went past Avon, hitting the governor squarely in the chest.

Then Jenna was seized by the teleport effect. The next moment she was back in the teleport bay with the others - hands still tied behind their backs - and Avon.

"Orac," Blake shouted, "tell Zen to get us out of here. Maximum speed!"

"Jenna." Clutching his shoulder, Avon sank to his knees. "In my pocket - the key for the handcuffs..."

* * * * * * *

"Of course, Avon's deception never fooled me," Vila declared, raising his glass of adrenalin and soma.

"Of course," Blake said, trying to keep a straight face.

They were sitting on the flight deck couches, except for Avon who was at his position, and Gan who'd gone to rest after his watch. It was twelve hours since they had fled the Mattaka star system and Zen had not detected any pursuers.

The wounded had been treated, their injuries healed. Blake's fractures had knitted well, as had Jenna's ankle. The stab-wound in her shoulder had not even left a scar. The bump on Vila's head had been hardly worth mentioning although, predictably, Vila had done so often and loudly. Avon's wound had been messy but not serious. Thank the stars for that! Blake couldn't even begin to imagine how to cope with having one member of his crew killing another.

"He was pretty convincing," Jenna said, sounding slightly defensive.

Vila downed his glass. "Shooting him wasn't your best ever idea!"

"Nor was it your best ever shot," Avon said from his position. "At that distance you should have made a better job of it."

Jenna turned her head to look at him, a tired smile touching her lips. "I'll remember that for next time."

Amazingly, Avon did not seem to bear her a grudge. He might even consider her deed a sensible action, Blake reflected.

"She didn't miss that governor," Vila observed.

"Ah, but she wasn't aiming at him." Avon seemed coldly amused.

"Orac." Blake turned to where the machine had been placed on the couch, already activated. "Have you picked up any news about governor Singh?"

"His death has been announced."

Blake felt a stab of disappointment. "A pity, the Federation needs people like him."

"He was an honourable man," Cally agreed, looking sad.

"Our escape would have meant the end of his career anyway," Avon said, adding dryly: "I imagine that the news of his death will not come unwelcome in certain government circles."

"You mean he was too incorruptible for their comfort," Jenna said.

Avon smiled at her. "Exactly. Although a laudable trait in someone investigating your enemies, it can become a liability when you don't know who will be next on his list."

"Is that why they made him governor of a hole like Mattaka?" Vila asked. "To get him out of the way?"

Avon's eyebrows came up in mock surprise. "That soma must have a positive influence on your brain cells."

It made sense, Blake thought. "They may even have chosen Mattaka in the hope that the existence of the clinic complex there would force him into an act of rebellion."

Avon nodded. "A neat way to get rid of someone who has outlived his usefulness. Of course, you have now solved that problem for them."

TRUST AVON TO WANT TO RUB THAT IN! Feeling his fists clench, Blake forced them to relax again.

"We were all in it, Avon," Jenna said.

"It was an unhappy coincidence," Cally observed.

"Yeah," Vila drawled. "Especially for that governor."

"Of course, it may not have been his wound that killed him," Avon remarked. "It's possible that a zealous and dedicated Security officer speeded up his demise."

Vila frowned. "You mean that skinny captain?"

Cally nodded slowly. "It would be her chance for redeeming herself."

"A pity I didn't hit HER!" Jenna said.

"At least the complex is destroyed." Blake was determined to concentrate on the positive results. "No deeds of atrocity can ever be committed at that cursed clinic again."

"And it will take them a very long time to set up new facilities," Cally said.

"It'll take a lot of resources as well." A thought struck Blake. "Jenna, did you manage to free the prisoners?"

"Yes, I showed them the way to the garage. They must have had enough time to escape."

"Another positive outcome. Good."

"Is it?" Avon asked. "I doubt the Mattakans will be grateful to you for releasing a shipload of serial killers into their community."

Blake fought down an acute longing to strangle him. Evenly, he said: "They can't be all like that girl Nurit."

For a moment the image of the slim body they'd found in the teleport room returned vividly to his mind's eye. She had still been clutching the knife, they'd had to prise it loose from her fingers. Her face had held a faint expression of surprise, enhancing its innocent beauty. Although he had no reason to doubt Jenna's words, Blake still found it difficult to imagine anything evil from such an angelic looking being.

"They must all be severe cases, to have earned that punishment," Vila said.

"Sian's daughter wasn't," Cally reminded him.

Jenna nodded. "She was convicted for killing a trooper in self defence."

"That's what her loving mother told us," Avon said. "Sian may have been economical with the truth."

"I don't believe that." Cally cast Avon a challenging look. "Nor do I believe that all those prisoners are like Nurit."

"They could be even worse," Vila said.

Jenna shrugged. "It is done."

"I wonder how long they'll be able to enjoy their freedom," Avon observed. "The hunt for them must be on by now."

"Not if they're presumed to have been killed in the explosion," Cally said.

"With their bodies missing no-one is going to fall for that," Avon predicted.

"I told them to head for the woods in the South," Jenna said.

Blake nodded. "By now they must have been picked up by the rebels hiding out there. Even if there are some real criminals amongst those prisoners, I've no doubt the rebels will find a use for them." He gave Avon a level stare. "After all, criminals don't make the worst freedom fighters."

Holding Avon's unreadable gaze, Blake felt a sudden fondness for the ones he'd ended up with.

To close the subject, he said briskly: "Let's get back to business. Jenna, Cally, you take another rest period. Vila-"

"I need a rest too. My head."

"Wait a minute, Blake," Jenna said. "I want to know how Avon got secretary Rontane to confirm his identity."

"Your grasping of facts seems to be as flawed as your aim." Avon gave her a cold smile. "Rontane did not confirm my identity. He was talking about someone else. It was a clip taken from a recording of one of his press conferences. Orac adapted the background to make it look like he was speaking from his office. I had Orac prepare a number of these clips, to deal with a range of questions. At the right time, Orac intercepted the transmission."

"And made it look as if Rontane was talking to Singh," Vila exclaimed.

"It had me fooled for a moment," Cally confessed.

"They won't fall for it again, though," Jenna said.

"We can rely on that." Avon frowned. "A pity, I had intended to put the scheme to a more profitable use."

But when it had come to saving his comrades, Blake thought, gratified, Avon had not hesitated. He smiled to himself, wondering what excuse Avon had come up with to justify his deed.

As if reading his thoughts, Avon snapped: "Don't let this give you any ideas, Blake! Like Vila, I'm only along for the ride."

Head held high, he strode from the flight deck.

Blake grinned. "Right, I'll take the next watch." With amusement he saw Vila sneak away, eager to be out of earshot before any command could reach him. He'd let him get away with it this time, Blake thought while the women left more slowly. He needed some time alone, to think about their next target.

His research on Central Control was still far from completed. What was it that Cally had said when he'd discussed his plans to destroy that place with her - for such an attack they would need all the weapons they could get. So why not go for the best place to get them?

"Orac," Blake said, turning to the computer. "I want you to compute an attack strategy for a raid on the Federation Weapons Development Base."

the end


End file.
